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) 





RICHARD RUNNING AWAY 




EICHMD PETEES : 


OR, 

COULD HE FORGIVE HIM. 


PERCY CURTISS, 

AUTHOR OF “amt OARNBTT." 



^GRAVES & ELLIS, 


No. 20 COBNniLL, 
1872. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 
Graves & Ellis, 

in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


CONTENTS. 


Mr. Keeni^s School ......... 9 

The Bath . . . ; 21 

Eichard and Kate 34 

Grandfather Wadsworth 47 

Harry Irving^s Proof of Friendship . . 61 

The Sixth Commandment 75' 

Jacob and Margery . * 98 

Richard’s Flight •. . . 120 

Making Acquaintances on the Road . . 129 

He Secures a Situation 140 

Black Jacob Gives Kate the Dove . . 158 

Richard’s Father Goes Away . . . . 173 

The Arrow ” 183 

The Pilot’s Story 208 

The Passengers of the Coach .... 225 

Jacques Lecroix . 235 


6 


CONTENTS. 


New Bedford Wharf ....... 247 

The Araminta • . . . 257 

The Capture . . . . ’ 269 

The Rescuje 292 

The Return 303 

'' Love Your Enemies 314 

Kate^s Birth-day Party 330 

Conclusion 347 


RICHARD PETERS. 


CHAPTER I. 

MR. KEENI^S SCHOOL. 

t ATE PETERS is going to have a party 
her next birth-day/^ said George Cruse 
to Bob Fry. 

** Pooh I That^s nothing. She never has 
boys.^^ 

** Cousin Sue says she’s going to this time.” 
Mr. Keeni’s school was just dismissed, and 
George and Bob were not so far from the oth- 
ers, but that Joe Simmons caught the agree- 
able intelligence, and spread it. 

I wonder whether she’ll have ice-creams ? ” 
inquired Charlie Graham, anxiously. 


10 


MR KEENI’S SCHOOL. 


should advise her not to, if you^re go- 
ing, laughed Joe Simmons. “She couldn^t 
get cream enough in the neighborhood.^^ 

Without resenting this fling, Charlie contin- 
ued, “And Mrs. Peters makes tip-top jelly. 

“When’s the party going to be?” inquired 
Bob Fry. 

“ Oh, not for ever so long. More than two 
months, I think. I’ll tell you who she won’t 
have.” 

“Who?” asked Joe. 

“I don’t believe she’ll have Jim Eeling.” 

Something in Georgey’s tone made Joe ask 
in a lower voice : 

“Why?” 

Then thpre was much whispering. At the 
end of it, little Joe Simmons, who had walked 
close to the two boys, said, ^ 

“Here’s a mess I I heard every word,” upon 
which he joined another group, and dissem- 
inated broad-cast the information he had just 
received. 


MR. KEENI^S SCHOOL. 


11 


Then nearly all the pupils crowded about 
one of the older boys, and amid the confusion 
of voices not a remark could be distinguished. 
Even the smaller lads, who generally listened 
to the opinions of the older ones, now shouted 
their asseverations without waiting for a reply, 
thrusting their elbows into each other^s sides, 
and treading on each other’s toes, in their 
eagerness to get into the centre of the ring. 

Richard Peters stood surrounded by his com- 
rades, but not seeing them. His face was 
white and convulsed, and he shook from head 
to foot as if in an ague-fit. 

Behind the group of boys stood the school- 
house, which was old and faced with brick, to 
which vines climg ^naciously wherever they 
were allowed to run. \ 

To the east, an open\ turfy space divided the 
house from the^^eat bdrn where the boys held 
high frolics jon the hay; on the opposite side 
lay the srmny garden, where each boy who 
boarded witiri^r. Keeni, had his little strip 


12 


MR. KEENrS SCHOOL. 


of land for raising vegetables ‘ or flowers, 
according to his taste. Along the garden 
wall clambered gnarled grape vines, and a 
double row of tall old lilac-bushes stretched 
down the centre. 

The fields, belonging to somewhat distant 
neighbors^ softly rising and following the undu- 
lations of the hills, limited the landscape on 
three sides ; but on the south there were 
glimpses of water between the fringing trees, 
and of homesteads sheltered among the farther 
hills. It was a region of peace and repose 
and quiet beauty, and the pupils of Mr. Keeni’s 
school felt its daily influence on their lives. 

On the present afternoon, ambition, anger 
and partisanship excluded all 'cognizance of 
softening influences, and it was only when the 
Master opened the door and walked down the 
pathway, that the boys began to move away 
by twos and threes. 

Squally Dick will fight it out^ith some- 
body, said Charlie Graham. 


MR. KEENI^S SCHOOL. 


13 


Better not let him hear you call him that 
name/^ replied his companion, looking cau- 
tiously over his shoulder. 

The sobriquet of “Squally Dick^^ had for 
many years been attached to Richard Peters, 
on accoimt of his hasty and ungoverned tem- 
per, and was especially obnoxious to the object 
to which it was attached. 

When Richard found himself alone with his 
friend Harry Irving, he gave vent to his anger 
in a torrent of words. 

“ I’ll douse him under the pump,” he gasped, 
“and lock him up in the cellar over night, and 
then we’ll see who’ll have a cold, and be 
obliged to stay at home a week.” 

Richard Peters had been confined to his 
chamber with influenza,, for a week, and 
although in spite of his illness, he had made 
up his lessons, he had learned on this after- 
noon, that his rival, James Eeling, had obtained 
seve^n merit marks in advance of him. One of 
the smaller boys had unwittingly confessed that 


14 


MR. KEENl’s SCHOOL. 


he had seen the master's rank book in Janies' 
hand the night before, and that Eeling had 

changed color and seemed much confused on 

\ 

seeing that he was observed. 

'' I would not care," said Richard bitterly, 
“if ho had earned the merits." 

“Do you suppose he set those seven marks 
down to himself?" inquired Harry Irving. 

“I'll find out." 

Richard uttered the words between his closed 
teeth, and Harry, who understood his friend, 
walked by his side in silence. There was a 
rich orange flush on the hills across the valley ; 
masses of fiery clouds hung, self-suspended, 
above the farthest woods, and such depths of 
purple-grey opened beyond them, as was wont 
to calm the evil spirit which at times awoke 
in Richard’s heart; but the beauty and fascin- 
ation and suggestiveness of the scene could 
not now lift his down-cast face, or soften the 
ferocity of his glance. 

As the two boys went on, Harry felt that 


MR. KEENI^S SCHOOL. 


15 


his friend walked with a purpose in view, for 
the strolling gait, which they were in the habit 
of assuming after school, was exchanged for a 
walk which increased each moment in rapidity. 

It is true that the youngest heart has the 
waves of the oldest, only without the sounding 
lead to fathom its depths. At that time, the 
light of the lovely landscape shed down only 
hopes, no rememberances, to these two boys. 

They turned down a lane and a little brown 
cottage came into view, seeing which, Richard 
ejaculated, 

“ITl see Georgey Cruse first.^^ 

The’ boy in question had just returned from 
school, and appeared at the door with a large 
slice of bread in his hand. Obeying a motion 
from Richard he walked out of the house, 
bareheaded, and shut the door. Being only ten 
years of age, and one of the smallest boys in 
school, he stood in fear of ‘'Squally Dick’s 
dangerous mood. 

Leading the way to the woodpile at the 


16 


MR. KEENI^S SCHOOL. 


back of the house, he sat down upon it while 
Eichard and Harry Irving stood before him. 

“Now George, say over again what you 
told me about James Eeling this afternoon.^^ 

The instincts of youth are even clearer than 
the experience of age. Georgey Cruse studied 
Eichard’s face for a moment and replied, 

“ I don’t like to. I wish I hadn’t said a- word 
about it. I didn’t know you’d care so much.” 

“But, you must.” 

“No. I don’t want to.” 

The scowl deepened on the face of the ques- 
tioner. Like Albano, Eichard had passed over 
those childish years in which Hercules stran- 
gled the serpents, into the years of temptation, 
when he warmed them again under his waist- 
coat, to behead them again in later time. At 
last he said with an effort, and standing very 
erect, 

“ You know I cannot whip so small a boy 
as you are. It is mean of you to take advan- 
tage of this.” 


MR. KEENI'S SCHOOL. 


17 


“But I don’t like to be a tell-tale.” 

“You have already told. I only wish you 
to repeat all you said to Robert Fry this after- 
noon. If you don’t, you are helping Eeling to 
cheat.” 

“ Truly ? ” 

“ Of course.” 

There was a very long pause. The little 
b(^ wished himself out of the situation. On 
his face appeared his thoughts plainly written. 
He crumbled his bread slowly and scattered it 
to the chickens while Richard quivered with 
impatience. 

Harry Irving laid his hand upon his’ friend’s 
shoulder. These two companions admired in 
each other those qualities which each lacked 
in himself. 

“I should stand by Dick if I were you, 
Georgey,” he said ; “for you know Jim would 
whip you all the sooner because you were 
smaller than himself.” 

“ I’m afraid Dick will go into one of his 


18 


MR. KEENI^S SCHOOL. 


awful fits and pitch into everybody. Well, 
this was all I saw. Bob Fry and me was go- 
ing trouting, and we was just saying we 
wondered which would get the first medal, 

I 

Eichard Peters or Jim Eeling, and we was 
both’ saying we hoped Richard would, when I 
found I’d left my best hook in my desk (you 
know Master doesn’t allow us to put ’em 
there,) and I ran back to get it. I thought 
there was nobody in the school-room when I 
went in, but the first thing I heard was a lit- 
tle noise up by the master’s desk, and Jim 
Eeling popped his head up and said, 

“ ‘ Halloo, you little good-for-nothing. What 
do you want ? ’ 

'‘.1 was afraid to tell him about the hook, 
so I said, 

'' ' I forgot something.’ 

"‘Then I noticed his face was red all over, 
and I could see the master’s rank book in his 
hand hanging down at his side. You know 
you can tell it by the blue corners, and while 


MR. KEENI^S SCHOOL. 


19 


I stared at it, his face grew redder and he 
shook one fist at me, and said, 

‘ If you tell anybody you saw me here 
youll catch it.^ 

I saw ^t he felt cheap all the time. He 
looked just as he did when Master found him 
eating, the grapes. I didn’t think much more 
about it till this afternoon when Master read 
the rank, everybody was so surprised, I thought 
I’d tell Bob Fry what I’d seen after school, 
and J oe Simmons overheard and went and 
told.” 

Georgey Cruse now began dimly to compre- 
hend that he who gives up the smallest part 
of a secret has the rest no longer in his power. 
Richard an^d Harry walked away, leaving him 
to worry over the consequences of his indis- 
cretion. 

I’ve thought of something, Dick,” said 
Harry, as they strode along without exchang- 
ing a word. 

There was no answer. 


20 


MR. KEENI’S SCHOOL. 


*‘1^11 get the master’s rank book and set 
seven merit marks down to you. Two can 
play at that game.” 

No sudden shears of untaught comprehension 
can analyze the finer fabrics of a boy’s nature, 
and Richard surprised his friend by stopping 
short in his rapid walk, and saying 

I never would touch the medal, if you 
did.” 

A moment or two afterwards Harry said 
rather timidly, 

*‘DonH fight with Jim Eeling. Will you ? ” 

‘‘ If I can find him, I’ll give him a sound 
thrashing,” was the reply. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE BATH. 

S the two boys proceeded, they passed 
some small sand bluffs, where the - swal- 
lows tilted airily into their little holes, or slid 
shyly from them ; then they drew near the 
river, and the instinct which leads all young 
human things to the water, overcame at the 
moment Harry^s interest in school promotion, 
and he - said, casting a longing eye over the 
bank, 

“ LePs go in, Dick.^^ 

It is doubtful if Richard in his disturbed 
state of mind would have heard the words, if 
his eye had hot alighted upon the hurrying, 
scattering, re-combining element, in whose deli- 
cious depths lay coolness enough, as he knew 
21 



22 


THE BATH. 


by experience, to abate the heat even of his 
temper I 

Richard Peters stood foremost among his 
companions, in athletic exercises, as well as in 
his studies. Perhaps there was no enjoyment 
into which he entered with such a^st, as into 
that of swimming. To him there was a physical 
felicity in the mere nakedness; the spreading 
of seven million pores to the soft . caresses of 
air and water made him seem to live only in* 
so much of his person as the sun and winds 
and waves touched, and the brief nudity made 
every moment of passing existence so intense 
that he would sometimes remain in the bath 
two hours at a time, against the dictates of 
prudence. 

Now as Harry pointed out near a bathing- 
place, one of the most charming little green 
dressing-rooms that ever tempted a boy’s sun- 
burnt body with its cooling shade, Richard 
hurried off his clothes, and leaped into the 
water. Both boys found swimming a tonic for 


THE BATH. 


23 


the mind, and in the enjoyment of the luxu- 
rious sensibility of the whole surface of the 
body, the cause of their recent excitement was 
almost forgotten. 

I like to bathe 'best when it rains, said 
Harry, thrusting forward each arm alternately, 
lifting it just into the air, and then scooping 
it backwards through the water. 

“ So do I,’^ shouted Richard, remembering 
how the rain-drops titillated so softly, that 
they made a delicious alternation with the 
more ample washing of the waves, like the 
successive appliances of the Turkish bath. 
^‘But,^^ he continued, if you want real work 
you ought to try the rock-bathing off Cape 
Ann. I went down there last summer with 
father. You plunge head foremost into the 
boiling surf, and come up panting into the air, 
and find that you only touch it with your lips, 
while your body and limbs seem held tight by 
the ocean. Then you swim out through the 
rollers, diving through them, and always com- 


24 


THE BATH. 


ing up into a calmj or you can loll backward 
on the swell, and just as the great wave crests 
over you, turn and dive ; or outside of the 
waves you can float like a spray of kelp, but 
you feel all the time as much alive as a dol- 
phin that’s glorious swimming.” 

'' I wish I could swim as you can, Dick,” 
called out Harry, rejoicing in his friend’s 
returning good humor. 

There was what the boys called a swimming- 
school attached to Mr. Keeni’s school, and 
earth has no laurels more flattering than the 
pupils won in each other’s eyes, amid those 
waters. Every day they went straggling, as 
boys will, now chasing a butterfly, now watch- 
ing for a muskrat, but pausing inevitably when 
they came to an old wharf, or abutment of a 
wharf, about a mile from the school-house, 
which was the common bathing-place. With 
what varied emotions did new-comers first dare 
three or four unaided strokes beyond their 
depth, and then cling trembling to some sedgy 


THE BATH. 


25 


bank on the farther side of a little cove, 
looking back over the narrow interval of un- 
fathoraed depth, across which Caesar and his 
fortunes had swum : but after a few more trial 
trips, behold ! they, had actually crossed the 
river, and stood waist-deep among the rushes 
of the farther shore. 

There was usually a huge flat-boat fastened 
near the bathing-place, and occasionally a few 
of the older boys would dare a bold adventure, 
and loosing the boat would ascend the river a 
mile or two, and then come drifting down with 
the polemen, who propelled the boat, at the 
sides, and a steersman at the stern. The 
younger boys swam out eagerly to meet the 
jovial mariners, and felt safe and supported 
clinging to that mass of timber, and then with 
a renewed sense of freedom, spurned it, and 
made their way to the friendly shore. These 
boys, frolicing in swift eddies, or in the quieter 
currents of backwater, in spite of Carlyle, rev- 


26 


THE BATH. 


erenced each other a great deal more for hav- 
ing no clothes on. 

I wish we had gone in beneath the mill- 
race. That^s where you have the fun/^ said 
Richard, who reveled in tjie confusing motion 
of the swirling waters beneath the surface. 

don^t like to liave my legs twisted into 
corkscrews, replied Harry, whose imagination 
was not so much affected by the element in 
which he floated, and who dreaded to pass 
through the phases of tremor and of thrill, 
reluctance and absorption, from a half wish 
that it might never begin, to a whole wish 
that it might never end. 

“You can float safely enough there, re- 
turned Richard, to whom a great wrestle with 
the waves, which implied a tension of the whole 
nervous system, was oftentimes a much-needed 
relief. The fresh, warm, vital force which 
filled his body to the last embranchment of 
every nerve and vein — tlie hum of those 


THE BATH. 27 

multitudinous spirits of life, which while build- 
ing their glorious abode, march as if in trium- 
phant procession through its secret passages, 
and summon all the fairest phantoms of sense 
to their half completed chambers — constituted 
far more than he suspected, an element of his 
frequent disturbance. The hot temper fits, 
for which in his calmer moments he was very- 
sorry, were in their own way but a part of 
the life which' filled and thrilled him ; at times, 
when not under the dominion of this demon, 
all possibilities of action and pleasure and 
emotion swam before his sight ; all he had read 
or heard of individual careers in all ages and 
climates, — dazzling pictures of the myriad- 
sided earth, to be won by whosoever dared 
arbitrarily to seize the freedom waiting for 
his grasp — floated through his brain. In a 
word, Richard Peters was almost too much 
alive. 

“Did you ever read about that swim that 
the seal-fishermen had in a cave on the north 


28 


THE BATH. 


coast of Ireland?^' asked Harry, while he lay 
on his back, looking up at the clear sky. 

A dozen times. I get the book every little 
while out of the library, because it makes me 
feel, all the time I am reading it, as if I were 
there, in danger, myself, said Richard. 

This book, Trenches Anecdotes,’^ was in 
great demand among the older pupils of Mr. 
Keeni’s school, and the feat of swimming to 
which Harry Irving referred, was one in which 
it seemed as if one mental tremor, one instant^s 
relaxation of the forces, one concession of 
weakness, would have surrendered everything, 
and would have left the fishermen of no more 
■account than swaying' reeds. It was a case of 
desperate swimming, like looking in the eye of 
a savage animal; doubt was death, and while 
Richard read of the escape from the cave, and 
the swim through a heavy sea in the return 
to shore, he felt as if he encountered in per- 
son the undertow of the beach, or the irregular 
lashing of the surf among the rocks. With 


THE BATH. 


29 


the men in the narrative, he lay watching the 
waves, and choosing his opportunity, and he 
held his breath as he waited for the heavy 
wave, and then allowing for two more behind 
it, landed with tolerable ease. 

As he now thought of the story, he said, 

“I wish something like that would happen 
to us. I am so tired of just going to school 
and going home. Sometimes I can hardly keep 
from running away, I long so much to have 
something happen to me.^^ 

“ When we grow up we’ll go all over the 
world together. I believe I should be afraid 
to go without you, Dick. You are never afraid 
of anything.” 

Richard made one or two of the usual 
breast movements of swimming, and having 
completed a circle, said in a lower voice than 
usual — 

Sometimes I am afraid of — myself. I do 
not know how it is, but when I get angry all 
the way through, I don’t know what I am 


30 


THE BATH. 


doing, and for some time afterwards I feel as 
I do when I wake up out of a bad dream. 

No matter. Don^t think about it. Let's 
swim ‘ dog-paddle,' as Mr. Keeni says the 
American Indians do," said Harry, attempt- 
ing what is sometimes called the “ crawl- 
stroke." 

I tried it last week, when my hands were 
so stiff, that it was hard keeping my fingers 
together." 

" I got a demerit last week for laughing 
aloud at something Bob Fry said while the 
master was lecturing. Mr. Keeni said, water 
was the only element in which flesh had an 
^advantage over bone and muscle. He told us 
the average specific gravity of a living human 
body was about one-tenth less than that of 
fresh water, the difference compared with sea- 
water being still greater; and that it was 
almost impossible for a man to sink in the 
Dead Sea, or in the Great Salt Lake, when all 
of a sudden Bob Fry whispered, 


THE BATH. 


31 


‘ Charley Graham had better go to the 
Bead Sea and stay there till he has learned to 
swim/ and I laughed. 

Charles Graham, a dull boy, who possessed 
a certain frail leaning towards gourmandize, of 
which a full pendulous lip told tales, was the 
butt of the school. He had made many unsuc- 
cessful attempts at learning to swim. Harry, 
seeing that Richard^s face bore testimony to 
his appreciation of Bob Fry^s joke, continued. 

‘‘ Then when the master said that water was 
the only magical element — the only one into 
which you could disappear and then reappear 
at will. Bob whispered, 

“ ‘ Charley can disappear easily enough. He 

reappears when we pull him out.^ 

Then the master told us to dip our heads 

beneath the water, and then open our eyes — 

0 

which we could do, in spite of Br. Franklin 
saying it was impossible — and see how strange 
everything looked. He said a stone upon the 
bottom would seem to expand and approach as 


32 THE BATH. 

if it were a shark, and a floating wisp of sea- 
\ - 

weed would look very much like a whale, and 
Bob whispered, 

‘ That’s the reason Charley is always so 
pale when we get him to land.’ ” 

The remembrance of Charles Graham’s woe- 
begone visage, drew shouts of laughter from 
both of the boys. Kichard’s good humor was 
fully restored, and he floated passively, by 
Harry’s side, with a perfect abandonment to 
the elemental forces, such as scarcely a hawk’s 
soaring could rival, for that would involve a 
perpetual tension of wing. He seemed no 
longer an individual will, but only the breath- 
ing atom of a universe. As he drifted he felt 
himself vibrating in unison with that vast 
polarity which thrills all created things. His 
deep content was disturbed by his friend’s 
exclamation — 

“How late it’s getting! We must go 
Jbome.” 

This could not be denied, and the boys un- 


THB BATH. 


33 


willingly emerged from the water, and having 
dressed themselves hastily, walked home to- 
gether, parting at Harry’s gate, which was but 
a stone’s throw from Richard’s, with a ringing 
good-night, which told plainly enough that all 
anger and malice were for the time forgotten. 


CHAPTER III. 


RICHARD AND KATE. 

t ICHARD entered his home with a bound- 
ing step, and finding the family seated at 
the tea-table, he took his accustomed place by 
the side of his sister Kate, and looked at her 
with such joyous animation that she touched 
his foot with her own under the table, and 
whispered, 

‘‘ You are going to get the medal. IVe 
been wondering all day if Mr. Keeni would 
count your absence, if you made up your 
lessons. Then seeing her brother's coun- 
tenance darken, she paused, and slid her hand 
quietly into his, and remained silent. This 
was Kate^s usual way of expressing her sym- 
pathy for her favorite brother. She knew 
34 


RICHARD AND KATE. 


35 


something had happened to vex him, and that 
she had hit upon the subject which had irri- 
tated him, when she had intended to sympa- 
thize with his evident happiness. 

Richard had four brothers and one sister, all 
younger than himself. He loved his sister 
Kate, who was eleven years old, more than all 
his brothers — more indeed than anything in the 
world. In spite of the difference in their ages, 
he confided in her, took her advice, lorded it 
over her, and was extremely proud of her. In 
•Kate^s eyes he was almost a man ; if not quite 
as important a personage as her father, yet -so 
very near it, that the difference was only 
pleasantly perceptible* and even this was com- 
pensated for, by his greater nearness to herself. 
There were her other brothers, Edgar, and 
Herbert, and Granville, and Albert. What 
were they all compared with Richard ? Only 
pleasant friends whom she had known all her 
life, while her oldest brother fully met all the 
requirements of her heart and mind. 


86 


RICHARD AND KATE. 


Bob Fry says Jim Eeling is ahead of you, 
Dick,’^ said Edgar Peters, who was two years 
younger than Richard. 

Bob Pry would be a better name for that 
boy, for he’s always sticking his nose in other 
people’s business,” said Richard. 

Kate drew her chair a little nearer to her 
brother. 

■*'You should not allow your competition to 
arouse unkind feelings,” said Mr. Peters, look- 
ing mildly at his ’eldest son. 

Richard had a great respect for his father, 
but he was obliged to make an effort before 
he could reply, 

“ I try not to, sir.” 

Mr. Peters was a man of importance in the 
region where he lived, — a pleasant village about 
seventy miles from Boston. He had been lib- 
erally educated, and was a wealthy farmer, 
having improved the patrimony which he had 
inherited. He, like the people among whom 
he* resided, was satisfied with his lot, for he 


RICHARD AND KATE. 3T 

lived upon a bountiful soil. Few of his neigh- 
bors were notably rich ; still fewer were abso- 
lutely poor. They had, generally speaking, a 
consciousness that their lives were cast in 
pleasant places ; they were orderly, and 
generally moral, and their own types were 
constantly reproduced and fixed both by mar- 
riage and intercourse. Political excitements 
swept at stated periods over the place, but in 
a mitigated form. Amid these scenes, even as 
a boy, one could see the probable map of his 
life drawn, by simply looking, upon those 
about him. 

If, however, there were one whose senses 
were not sluggish, but keen, who longed to 
share in that life of the world, the least part 
of which was known to his native community, 
that one, with unusual tastes or different views 
of life, almost excited the suspicion of those 
around him, who were for the most part inca- 
pable of discriminating between independent 
thought and an inclination to vagabondage. 


38 


RICHARD AND KATE. 


Mr. Peters lived on the farm which had been 
owned by his father and grandfather and great- 
grandfather — all farmers, men of sterling 
worth, and well adapted to the posts of honor 
which they had respectively occupied in their 
native village. The Peters farm of two hun- 
dred acres, stretching back over the hills 
which enclosed the valley on the east, was as 
excellent soil as the neighborhood knew ; the 
stock was plentiful; the house, barn, and all 
the appointments of the place were in the best 
order, and Mr. Peters owed no man anything. 
The work of his own hands was not especially 
needed, but he believed in healthful occupaflon 
of body and mind, and enforced his own prin- 
ciples and practice on his children. The un- 
governed temper of his oldest son Eichard, 
caused him much anxiety, and although he 
hoped some richer development of life would 
result from the boy’s occasional struggles for 
self-mastery, there were times when he felt 
almost discouraged. 


RICHARD and KATE. 


39 


Richard himself could not understand why it 
was, that while he was in a repentant mood 
after an outbreak of passion, his father^s mild 
and sensible ' advice did not make the impres- 
sion which it did at other times. He did not 
know that every fit of fury to which he yielded, 
made all gentler moods and sentiments seem 
more and more tame and childish. At these 
times, when his father spoke of the peaceful 
joys and substantial rewards of a well-regulated 
life, the fields only seemed to Richard very 
dreary, and the trees, rooted in their places, and 
growing under conditions which they were 
powerless to choose or change, were but tire- 
some types of himself. At these times even 
the beckoning heights far down the valley 
failed to touch his fancy. He heard the voice 
of Duty saying, ‘‘The control of your temper 
is a discipline good and necessary for you: 
and you must be perfectly contented with try- 
ing to keep in the right path,^^ but there 


40 


RICHARD AND KATE. 


was the miserable, inexplicable fact of dis- 
content. 

While Richard ate his supper almost in 
silence, listening to the conversation of the 
other members of the family, he was aware 
that his sister Kate snuggled closer to his side, 
and towards the end of the meal he heard her 
say in the softest whisper, 

*'Do tell me, Ricky, as soon as we’re done 
supper.” Then he nodded assent, and their 
mother looking over at them smiled lovingly, 
as she always did when these two consulted 
together. 

About a quarter of an hour after tea, Kate 
had Richard all to herself in a deserted corner 
of the back piazza, and sitting before- him with 
a countenance on which were written the 
twelve friendly signs of the zodiac of love, 
she plied him with questions, until she under- 
stood pretty well the events of the day. Then 
she said. 


RICHARD AND KATE. 


41 


'‘James Eeling may get the medal, but you 
can keep your self-respect, Ricky. Besides, 
maybe it is better for you to forgive him 
than to get the medal. 

Richard twined one of his sister’s long curls 
over his fore-finger, and said slowly, 

" Ye-es. But if I earn the medal I mean to 
have it.” 

"Not if you have to do something wicked 
to get it, Rickibus.” (This was a name which 
Kate often used in coaxing her brother.) 

" I shall whip Jim Eeling, if he cheats 
me.” 

"'Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry; 
for anger resteth in the bosom of fools,’ ” 
quoted Kate, laying her face up against her 
brother’s. Richard felt the soft warm cheek 
against his own, and throwing his arm around 
his sister, he said, 

"You’re a good little girl, Katie. The best 
girl that ever lived, but you can’t understand 
my afiairs, of course. You are not old enough. 


42 


RICHARD AND KATE. 


I care for my honor as well as for the medal. 
All the boys would think I was a coward and 
a sneak if I let Jim Eeling off, after he had 
stolen my rights/^ 

* His own iniquities shall take the wicked 
himself/ again quoted Kate, looking soberly 
down the valley. 

Do you know the Bible all by heart, Katie ? 
I suppose girls are always better than boys.^^ 

‘‘ I don’t think anybody in the world is half 
as good as you, my darling, darling Kick,” 
said Kate. “ Only sometimes when you are 
going to be angry, you frighten me.” 

‘‘ What would you do, Kate, if anybody 
served you such a trick ? ” 

should tell mother and Miss Seldon.” 
(Miss Seldon was Kate’s Sunday School teach- 
er.) Mother would say, ‘My dear little daugh- 
ter, life, is so short, that we cannot afford to 
lose any time in fostering evil feelings. Try 
to do right yourself, and leave the rest to your 
Heavenly Father.’ Then she would look right 


RICHARD AND KATE. 


43 


down to the bottom of my heart — you know 
how. 

“Miss Seldon would listen to all I said, but 
wouldn’t answer me right off. She would 
repeat some verses from the Bible as if she 
was thinking out loud, and some hymns like 
these. 


“ * Think gently of the erring one ! 

He is our brother yet. 

Heir of the same inheritance, 

Child of the self-same God ; 

He hath but stumbled in the path. 

We have in weakness trod. 

Forget not thou hast often sinned. 

And sinful yet must be. 

Deal gently with the erring one. 

As God hath dealt with thee. 

Should friends misjudge, or foes defame. 
Or brethren faithless prove. 

Then, like thine own, be all our aim 
To conquer them by love.’ 


“Then after we had talked about a good 


44 


RICHARD AND KATE. 


many pleasant things, until I’d forgotten what 
vexed me, we should kneel down and pray — 
she would pray and I would listen, and think 
that it was just what I should say, if I could 
talk out my best feelings. Then when I went 
home, I could no more hurt anybody I Why 
Kicky, you couTdnH fight with anybody, if you 
should go and talk it over with Miss Selden.” 

Richard looked at his sister’s flushed and 
eager face ; and then he said, 

I rather talk it over with you, Katie. You 
are just the same to me, that Miss Selden is 
to you — only more so. Of course Miss Seldon 
would advise me not to whip Jim Eeling, be- 
cause she’s a woman, and women and girls 
are not expected to stand up for their rights. 
We men have to do that for them.” 

“Are you going to whip James Eeling for 
me. Kicky?” 

“Why n-o, of course not. And yet I don’t 
know but it might effect you in some way, if 
it was known that your brother was a coward.” 


RICHARD AND KATE. 


45 


I’ll risk it ; and besides, I think you are 
mistaken about boys being expected to fight, 
and girls not. The- Bible doesn’t say so any- 
where.” 

Oh, that’s a very different thing.” 

Kate took her brother’s chin in both her 
hands, and held his face opposite her own, and 
said in a voice which he seldom resisted, 
^'Promise me, you wont fight, 'Kickibus.” 

“ I wont, if I can help it. There, let’s talk 
about something -else, Kitty.” 

The little girl gave her brother a kiss on 
both cheeks, and sitting on a step at his feet, 
said with a rueful countenance, 

wish I could see through my troubles as 
easily as I can through yours. Kicky. It’s that 
History, you know. If it weren’t for that, and 
Mr. Bastachio’s explanations, I do think I 
should never feel vexed.” 

. A smile flickered for an instant over Rich- 
ard’s face as he said, ^‘The history of Egypt 
is in the early stages dark and uncertain. 


46 


RICHARD AND KATE. 


Menes is the first king of whom, we know any- 
thing. He built Memphis and turned the Nile 
into a safer channel 

^'Oh dear, yes,^^ laughed Kate. '^That is 
the way it goes on, and to-day when I ought' 
to have said ‘ Moeris dug out lake Moeris to 
hinder the pernicious overflowings of the Nile,^ 

I skipped the whole page down to ^Dejocis 
built Ecbatana,^ and lost, my place. I can^t re- 
member those things apart. Thej^ all seem 
alike. 

The History was brought out and Richard 
explained to his attentive pupil the best way 
of fixing the facts and dates in the memory. 
Kate began to think that even that dreadful 
book might be made attractive, if all teachers 
possessed her brother's delightful method of 
instructing. 


CHAPTER IV. 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 



RS. PETERS^ FATHER had always re- 
^ sided in the family since Richard^s 
birth, and he was in many respects so remark- 
able, that I must take a new chapter to de- 
scribe him. 

Picture to yourself a burly figure, greenish 
gray eyes which occasionally expressed great 
tenderness of feeling, thick muscular^ legs, and 
an expression of countenance which seemed 
vibrating between total indiflerence and furious 
emotion. 

People said there was a vein of oddity run- 
ning through the Wadsworth family, and that 
Grandfather Wadsworth had during the course 
of his lifetime carried his eccentricity to 

47 - 


48 GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 

great extremes. He certainly looked as if at 
some period, he might have been self-opinion- 
ated, domineering, pugnacious, and sarcastic. 
His personal appearance rather hinted at these 
qualities than proclaimed them. 

At the time of the opening of this story he 
was ninety-one years of age. The fact appear- 
ed incredible, because he had preserved almost 
unimpaired not only his moral energy and 
intellectual faculties, but also his physical 
senses, and even to an extraordinary degree his 
muscular strength. 

He had long gray hair, and a shining hand^s- 
breadth of baldness prolonged the height of his 
forehead. His face was deeply wrinkled, but 
more apparently with thought and passion than 
from decay, for the expression was, as T have 
said, still vigorous. There was very little of 
that tranquility which is commonly observable 
in the countenances of the extremely aged. 
The cheek bones were heavy ; the jaws were 
unusually prominent. I suppose many of my 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH, 


49 


readers have seen the profile of the '' Old Man 
of the Mountain’^ at Franconia Notch ? Well, 
the face of Richard Peters’ grandfather was in 
general, a long, large face, grimly and ruggedly 
massive, of a uniform grayish color, and 
reminding one of the granite visage of ‘‘The 
Old Man of the Mountain.” 

Grandfather Wadsworth’s figure agreed with 
his face. He was of medium height, with a 
deep chest and heavy limbs He did not stand 
quite upright, but the stoop was in his shoul- 
ders, and arose from a careless habit of carry- 
ing himself, much more than from weakness. 
He walked with a cane, but his step, though 
rather short, was strong and rapid. At times 
he seemed a little deaf, but it was mainly from 
absorption of mind and inattention, and his 
grandchildren often had reason to know that he 
could hear perfectly when he was interested. 
Nothing that occurred in the family was un- 
noticed by him. The great grey eyes under 
his bushy pepper-and-salt eyebrows were still 


50 grandfather wadswcrth. 

so soTind that he only used spectacles in read- 
ing. He had a strong rasping voice, and when 
very much in earnest, expressed his wishes 
something after the fashion of a sea-captain 
giving orders in a tempest. 

The effect of Grandfather Wadsworth’s voice 
was greatly enhanced by his appearance and 
manners. Sometimes when thinking deeply 
upon some subject which interested him, he 
would stump noisily about the room which had 
been set apart for his exclusive use. At such 
times his thick shoes squeaked, and his cane 
punched the doors and occasionally upset the 
chairs, and he seemed to be making a boister- 
ous expedition around among the furniture. 
When engaged in animated conversation he 
stalked about the room all the time he talked. 
An invalid cousin who used to make an annual 
visit at the Peters farm house declared that 
Grandfather Wadsworth was, for his years, 
more restlessly and distressingly vital than any 
person she had ever seen. 


GRANDFATHER WAD^ORTH. 61 

The invalid cousin, knowing that she was an 
unwelcome visitor at most houses, acknowledged 
that the old gentleman always gave her a 
hearty invitation to come again. 

The truth was, Mrs. Peters^ father had seen 
many phases of life. At twenty-seven years 
of age he had been a chestnut-haired, gray- 
eyed young man, with a large and muscular 
build ; he had been trained in severe schools, 
and had so far learned to conquer the impetu- 
osity of his earlier manhood, as to show deep 
excitement only by a momentary paleness. He 
possessed a mind and heart refined by the mani- 
fold touch of high civilization, and by the love 
of a Christian mother — an organization brought 
to the keenest sensitiveness by poetry and the 
spiritualized social breath of the times in which 
he lived, and a body in which strength was 
not lacking and nerve abundant. 

As a boy, he had been the exact counter- 
part of his grandson, Richard Peters, and now 
as he drew near to the time of life in which 


52 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 


ordinary mortals sink into the weakness of 

second childhood, he showed somewhat the 
natural traits which in middle life had lain en- 
crusted. 

On the morning following the day on which 
Richard had given his sister the conditional 
promise, Grandfather Wadsworth walked out in 
the garden, where he was soon joined by Rich- 
ard and Kate. The little girl flitted about 

among the pink borders and verbena beds, 

trimming and putting them in order, while her 
brother whittled out supports for" the taller 

rose-bushes and fuschias. At last she said, 
''That is beautiful, Ricky; just long enough 
and wide enough for this little bush. Some- 
times I think you know everything useful.’^ 

" A loving heart is the beginning of all 
knowledge,’^ said Grandfather Wadsworth, re- 
moving a stone from the pathway with the 
point of his cane. 

"You can’t love everybody, you know, 
Grandpa,” said Richard, looking up from the 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 


53 


trellis he had just finished. ''Now I know a 
boy that I don’t love.” 

" What advantage do you envy him,” 

Richard became suddenly grave. It had 
never before occurred to him that he envied 
James Eeling. 

" Want of compassion is not to be numbered 
among our general faults,” continued the old 
gentleman. "We have it from good authority, 
that the black ingredient which fouls our dis- 
position is envy. Our eye is seldom raised 
upward to those who are manifestly greater, 
better, wiser, or happier than ourselves, with- 
out some degree of malignity ; while we com- 
monly look downwards on the mean and miser- 
able, with sufficient benevolence and pity. 
Most of the defects which have discovered 
themselves in the friendships of what are 
called 'kindred souls’ have arisen from envy 
only ; a horrible vice ; and yet one from which, 
very few are absolutely exempt.” 

Richard was silent and thoughtful. Katy 


54 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 


left the rose-bush supported by the new trellis, 
and ran to get the old straw arm-chair from 
the piazza for her grandfather, who continued 
to poke the stones from the pathway. 

“Do you think, sir, that I envy James 
Eeling, when I believe he has seven dishonest 
merits 

“You know your own feelings better than I 
do,^^ said the old gentleman, seating himself 
and patting Katie’s head by way of thanks. 
“ Boys like you, who are striving for a prize, 
sometimes become envious without realizing it.” 

“ Boys like me ?” inquired Richard, in an 
injured tone of voice. There was a twinkle in 
Grandfather Wadsworth’s eyes, as he replied, 

^You’ve forgotten that Mr. Boyd told us 
that to be classed at all is painful to an aver- 
age mortal, because every commonplace man 
and woman in the world, has a vague, but 
deeply-rooted belief, that they are quite differ- 
ent from anybody else, and of course quite 
superior to everybody else.” 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 


55 


I wonder if I am conceited and envious 
Richard queried in a low voice. 

Katy did not like the tone the conversation 
had assumed, and she plucked a handful of 
purple pansies, and holding them before her 
grandfather’s eyes, said, 

‘'Aren’t they beautiful — and yet — sober 
flowers 

“Yes,” returned the old gentleman, holding 
the pansies tenderly, “it is true that all good 
color is in some degree pensive, the loveliest 
is melancholy and the purest and most thought- 
ful minds are those which love color the most.” 

“ Grandpa has complimented you, in spite of 
himself, Kitty, for you know you always have 
a vase of the brightest flowers on the piano. 
I believe next to a rose, ^ you like a pansy 
best. Didn’t you say once. Grandpa, that a 
pansy reminded you of something very pleas- 
ant ?” 

“ Yes. Your grandmother was arranging 
pansies in a white vase the first time I saw 


66 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 


her. I was twenty years old then. Every age 
leaves behind in our hearts imperishable mo- 
ments which every other heart has forgotten.^' 
While his grandfather spoke/ Eichard lookbd 
at the silver hair and aged face, and the sym- 
pathy and tenderness which he felt, drove out 
of his mind his anger at James Eeling, and 
every other evil passion. For a few moments 
the snakes of the Furies curled themselves into 
ringlets ; Ixion^s wheel revolved harmoniously 
to the sound of the lyre, and the two poor 
Sisyphi sat quietly on their two stones and 
listened. 

'' I wish,^^ said Kate, “ that we had a picture 
of that — your meeting with Grandma, I mean. 
It must have been so pretty.^’ 

‘‘ That is the best part of beauty, which a 
picture cannot express, replied her grandfather. 

‘‘ Now you are so old, when you look back 
Grandpa, dear, wouldn^t you rather be young 
asked Katy, who had returned to her gardening. 
‘ ' Man looks with emotion down into the far 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 


51 


low-lying time, when the spindle of his life ran 
round as yet, almost naked, without threads ; 
for his beginning borders more nearly upon his 
end than the middle, and 'the outward bound 
and the homeward bound coasts of our life 
hang over into the dark sea/' mused the old 
man. 

Kate opened her mouth and shut it without 
saying a word. She never interrupted her aged 
relative's reveries. Presently Richard said, 
somewhat impatiently, 

I wish the time from now to examination- 
day was gone. So many disagreeable things 
may happen." 

Did nobody ever tell you that it was wrong 
to wish time away, and that each moment of 
time is so valuable, that God never gives us 
one, until the previous one is taken away ? Of 
them, differing from all His other gifts, there 
can be no accumulation," replied his grand- 
father, who had the habit of occasionally turn- 
ing his arm-chair into a pulpit. 


58 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 


think white petunias are pretty. I don^t 
care if they are common. I wonder why peo- 
ple don’t like them better?” demanded Kate, 
as she tied a plant ‘full of blossoms to a green 
stick. 

‘"They always put them with other white 
flowers in the room where the coffin is at 
funerals. Don’t you remember when Jenny 
Long died?” asked Richard. 

“ The love of color is healthful and natural,” 
said his grandfather. “ Plants which are pois- 
onous have for the most part a white milk-like 
sap. Ratsbane or arsenic, to be genuine, must 
look quite white, glittering and transparent.” 

“ But a garden is not pretty without white 
flowers,” persisted Kate, as she ran about 
among the summer blossoms, whose breath is 
far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes 
like music) than in the hand. “We could not 
live very well without flowers, could we 
Ricky ?” 

“ God Almighty first planted a garden,” said 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 


69 


Grandfather Wadsworth, ^‘and I think it has 
been truly said that the human race may be 
properly divided by zoologists into men who 
have gardens, libraries, or works of art, and 
who have none.'^ 

“Then you belong twice over to one class, 
Kitty, for you have two gardens, said Richard, 
with a mischievous smile. 

Kate hung her head and blushed a little. 
In her love for gardening, she had under- 
taken the cultivation of two pieces of land. 
Her father had advised her to care for the 
flower garden only, but a small strip of land, 
at the back of the house, through which a 
lovely stream played hide and seek, had been 
given to her at her earnest solicitation, for a 
vegetable garden. Any reference to this vege- 
table garden, of which it could be truly said 
that nothing within it opposed the sacred efibrt 
of things toward life, caused its owner great 
mortification. She discovered too late that po- 
tato blossoms were not as fragrant as helio- 


60 


GRANDFATHER WADSWORTH. 


trope, and the small strip of land had become 
choked with weeds. 

Mother says you’ll be late to school if you 
don’t come in now,” shouted little Albert, run- 
ning down the pathway. 

Kate kissed her grandfather and hastened 
away. 

There are individuals full of colossal relics, 
like the earth itself. Some thought like this 
passed through Richard’s mind, as he bade his 
grandfather good-morning. 


HARRY Irving's proof of friendship. 61 


CHAPTER V. 

HARRY Irving's proof of friendship. 

Richard entered the school-room, he 
felt somebody pulling at his jacket, and 
looking over his shoulder he sav7 Harry Irving. 

The -last bell had sounded, and it was time 
the boys had taken their seats, but Harry con- 
tinued to whisper, 

“ It's all right. I've done it." 

Richard looked at him without comprehend- 
ing. 

^^I’ll tell you after school," said Harry, 
making a strange gesture. 

Richard nodded, wondered for a moment, 
and took his seat. 

After the morning prayer, the class in Virgil 


62 HARRY IRVING^S PROOF OF FRIENDSHIP. 

went out to recite. James Eeling took his 
seat with an air of triumph at the head of the 
class. 

Kichard felt the blood mount to his cheeks, 
but he kept his eye fixed upon his book, that 
he might not see too plainly the irritating look 
of curiosity which appeared upon the faces of 
the other boys. The class were translating the 
second book of the ^neid, and each read five 
lines in turn. 

“You will commence at the seven hundred 
and forty-fifth line, Eeling, said Mr. Keeni. 

James began in a loud sharp voice. 

“ Whom did I not blame — ^there he stopped 
short and looked exultingly at Eichard for a 
moment, and the latter felt that the words 
were intended to apply to his anger of the 
preceding afternoon. 

Mr. Keeni looked up inquiringly, and James 
continued his translation. 

Then Richard began, and as he translated 
the words “ I am resolved,’^ he threw such a 


HARRY Irving's proof of friendship. 63 

look of defiance at his neighbor, as caused the 
latter to remove as far as the limits of the 
seat would allow. The movement was unno- 
ticed by the teacher, and the recitation con- 
tinued as usual. 

All through the morning, the remembrance 
of Kate's gentle advice came like a soothing 
influence to Richard, who was resolved to con- 
quer the angry feelings which assailed him. At 
noon he walked quickly away with Harry Ir- 
ving, leaving a group of disappointed boys 
standing where they had loitered to see the 
expected fight. James Eeling lost no time in 
taking the opposite direction. 

As soon as he was out of hearing of his 
companions, Harry inclined his head towards 
his friend, and said in a low voice. 

You are even with him, Dick. I came 
early this morning, and got the rank book 
and set down seven merit marks to you*, to 
match the seven Jim set down to himself." 

Richard became so suddenly pale that Harry 


64 HARRY IRVING^S PROOF OF FRIENDSHIP. 

began to have his doubts of the benefit he 
had conferred. 

I thought you’d like to come up with him, 
and you couldn’t do it yourself, you know,” 
he said, anxiously. 

“ I should rather have stayed at the foot of 
the class a whole year — forever,” gasped 
Eichard. 

“Oh Dick ! I thought you’d like it. I lay 
awake half of last night, thinking how I 
could get in early this morning, and do it.” 

“ I would give anything if you could get 
those marks off again,” said Richard, to whose 
face the color had begun to return. 

“Why?” 

“ Because till now I have earned all my 
merits. What did you set them down with ? ” 

“ A lead pencil. All the others were made 
with a lead pencil.” 

“ Then you could rub them out' — or I could.” 

“Why, ye-es,” said Harry, in a tone of 
deep disappointment. 


HARRY IRVING^S PROOF OF FRIENDSHIP. 65 

Richard looked at his friend, and made sev- 
eral confused attempts before he spoke. At 
last he said, 

“ I can’t tell you all I feel about it. I made 
up my mind at the beginning of the year I’d 
earn the medal. It would please father and 
mother so. I know father thinks my temper 
will prevent my succeeding in anything, but 
Kate doesn’t think so. I’ve been thinking this 
whole year how Kate’s eyes would shine when 
I carried the medal home.” 

Richard’s voice trembled as he ceased speak- 
ing. 

Well, then, everything is right,” said Har- 
ry. You and Eeling were just about even — 
you were a little bit ahead, when he just the 
same as stole seven marks from you. Now 
I’ve made it square again, only just square, 
and not one mark over, and you two can go 
ahead just as you did before. If Jim sets 
down any more marks to himself. I’ll set down 
just as many to you, though it’s awfully risky 


66 HARRY IRVING^S PROOF OF FRIENDSHIP. 

trying to get the book. But it’s fair for you 
to keep what you’ve earned.” 

It’s no use, Harry. I should rather Hot 
have the medal at all, than to get it in that 
way. I .generally tell Kate about my affairs, 
and when there is any mean dodge, she 
pounces right on to* it in an instant, and finds 
something in the Bible that just fits it, and 
then I always wish I hadn’t done it.” 

“ Kate is only eleven years old. She doesn’t 
know half as much as you.” 

She knows a great deal more than I do 
about such things. I’d thank you not to say 
she doesn’t. When she repeats those lines, 
I’ve always noticed it turns out just as she 
says, and she doesn’t put on any airs about it 
either. If she couldn’t say any of those nice 
verses to me when I showed the medal to her, 
I shouldn’t care much whether I had it or not. 
You don’t know how pretty her eyes are when- 
she thinks I’ve done something grand.” 

“You want me to rub out those seven 


HARRY IRVING^S PROOF OF FRIENDSHIP. 67 

marks interrogated &arry, after a long 
pause. 

It doesn^t seem fair for you to take all 
that trouble, and run the risk.^^ 

''I don’t care for the risk, but I’m sorry 
you won’t take your rights. If you should 
be caught with the book in your hand, some- 
body might ‘think you were setting down merits 
to yourself. I’ll rub the marks out to-night 
after school. That’s a safe time. Everybody’s 
out of the way.” 

Richard had made up his mind not to tell 
his sister what Harry had done. At noon-time 
he whittled out a little sail-boat for his young- 
est brother, Albert, and tried to forget the 
merit marks. In the afternoon he could not 
keep his mind upon the school exercises, and 
he felt sure that Mr. Keeni looked at him sig- 
nificantly from time to time. 

Richard was an expert at figures, but during 
the recitation in Algebra, a question in nega- 
tive quantities being given, he returned the 


68 HARRY Irving’s proof of friendship. 

wrong answer, and w*as recalled to a sense of 
his error by the smile upon James Eeling’s 
face. 

After the recitation was ended, he returned 
to his seat and opened his Philosophy, and kept 
his eyes fixed upon its pages, but his mind 
was busy with conjecturing the means by 
which Harry would obtain possession of the 
rank book, and the chances of detection. He 
knew his friend’s timid nature, and how great 
a sacrifice of personal feeling he must* have 
made, before venturing upon so bold a deed. 

Just before closing the school, while the 
boys sat with folded arms awaiting the signal 
of dismission, Mr. Keeni said, with a peculiar 
intonation, which riveted the attention of every 
pupil, 

“ Young gentlemen, I have a question to ask 
each of you before you retire.” 

On Mr. Keeni’ s face the air of authority 
which belonged to his calling had impressed 
itself. His complexion was clear olive ; his 


HARRY IRVING^S PROOF OF FRIENDSHIP. 69 

eyes, so long accustomed to watch the varying 
phases of school life, had acquired a steady 
gaze, which the boys under his charge well 
understood. He endeavored conscientiously to 
meet the responsibilities of his situation. His 
pupils respected him as a just judge, and 
loved him as a steadfast friend. They had 
become so accustomed to his usual voice and 
manner, that almost any one of them might 
have easily been shrewd enough to guess, in 
advance, very nearly what their teacher would 
say upon a given occasion, and each and all 
of them would have been both surprised and 
disappointed if he had not said it. Thus, on 
the present afternoon, the odd inflection of his 
voice, caused a silence so profound, that the 
dropping of a pin might have been heard in 
any part of the room. 

Any one of you who has ever taken the 
rank book in his hand, will please stand.^^ 
Every pupil remained motionless, with the 
exception of One or two of the smaller boys, 


*?0 HARRY IRYING^S PROOF OF FRIENDSHIP. 

who shot swift glances at James Eeling, who 
looked perfectly unconcerned, while Kichard 
Peters’ face became scarlet. 

Any one of you who has ever seen the 
rank book in the possession of a pupil of this 
school, will stand.” 

Again, as before, not. a boy arose. 

All those who have never opened the rank 
book, and have never seen it opened by any 
other individual than myself, may raise the 
right hand.” 

Instantly every right hand went up with the 
exception of Harry Irving’s ; his hand wav- 
ered — went up a little — then lay on his desk 
— ^then started again — then fell back, and finally 
ascended higher and remained upright longer 
than any of the others. 

The master’s face became very grave. 

“I should regret — ” he began, when a loud 
knock at the door interrupted him. 

'' Harry Irving is wanted,” said the boy 
who opened the door. 


HARRY IRVING^S PROOF OF FRIENDSHIP. Tl 

'"You can go, Irving,’^ said Mr. Keeni. 

Harry did not start with the joyful alacrity 
which the boys usually exhibited on being dis- 
missed. He knew he was for the moment the 
centre of observation, and he wished for an 
opportunity to whisper a word to Richard. 
Under pretence of arranging his books on his 
desk, he put his head down, and hastily wrote 
on a scrap of paper, 

** ril tell the master all about it to-morrow 
morning, and as he went down the aisle 
dropped the bit of paper into his friend’s 
hand. 

Richard read the words unobserved, and 
thrust the paper into his pocket. At the outer 
door, Harry found his father and mother in a 
carryall. 

n WeYe going over to your grandmother’s, 
and thought we’d take you,” explained his 
father. 

** What’s amiss, my son ? Have you failed 
in your lessons to-day ? ” asked his mother. 


72 HARRY Irving’s proof of friendship. 

seeing no look of pleasure on the boy’s face 
at the mention of the ride. 

No’m ; my recitations were all perfect,” 
returned Harry, as he climbed into the carriage 
with a heavy heart. 

Meanwhile in the school-room, Mr. Keeni 
continued his interrupted sentence. 

''I should regret that one of my pupils in 
whose word I have hitherto placed implicit 
confidence, should now lack the moral courage 
to confess a misdemeanor.” 

Most persons looking at Richard Peters’ face 
while the master spoke, would have judged 
him guilty of a most flagrant misdemeanor. 
His face lowered a little, changed from scarlet 
to white, and then to scarlet. 

He was thinking only that Harry had been 
found out. 

James Eeling betrayed no emotion whatever, 
but looked the master steadily in the face. 

"‘You all know, from the weekly reports,” 
continued Mr. Keeni, “ which of your compan- 


HARRY Irving’s proof of friendship. 73 

ions stand foremost.” (Every eye turned tow- 
ards Kichard and James.) ^‘Hitherto my rank 
book has lain in a corner of my desk, which 
is never locked. To-day, •'I find seven merit 
marks set down by a strange hand, to one of 
my best and most advanced pupils.” 

Every eye turned towards James Eeling, 
except that of the master, who looked at 
Kichard Peters. 

Richard became every moment more confused 
and agitated, and James Eeling turned slightly 
pale. 

These seven marks,” continued the master, 

are shorter by half, than those I usually 
make, and are crowded together evenly, whfie 
my own are irregular, from being made one at 

t 

a time, as occasion has required.” 

At these words James Eeling smiled, and 
fully recovered his self-possession. 

“Peters, you will stand.” 

Richard arose, but did not lift his eyes to 
the master’s face. 


*74 HARRY Irving’s proof of friendship. 

Do you know how it happens that you are 
accredited with these seven merits?” 

A murmur of astonishment ran through the 
school. All the boyS had exulted secretly in 
the thought of seeing James Eeling brought to 
punishment. 

Richard Peters stood silent, with a troubled 
look in his eyes. 

Did you set them down ? ” demanded the 
master. 

Richard hesitated, before answering, 

''No, sir.” 

"Do you know who did it?” 

There was no reply, and in the long silence 
that followed, some of the boys thought they 
heard the loud beating of their own hearts. 

"Peters, you will take your seat and remain 
after school,” said the master. Then he gave 
the usual signal for dismission, and the boys 
went out slowly, amazed at the turn affairs 
had taken. 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


75 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 

%j|k|lHEN Richard found himself alone with 
the master, the latter said, in a kind 

voice, 

“ There is some mystery here, which you 
may be able to clear up. You may come to 
the desk.^’ 

Richard did as he was bidden, but remained 
silent. Mr. Keeni regarded him closely for a 
few moments, and then said musingly, but 
with great gravity of manner. 

There are indeed some vigorous natures 
which stand on the boundary line of genius 
and talent, fitted out half for active, half for 


76 THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 

ideal, effort, and, withal, of burning ambition. 
They feel forcibly all that is beautiful and 
great, and desire to create it again out of them- 
selves, but they succeed only very feebly in 
doing so. They have not, like genius, one direc- 
tion, but they stand at the gravitating point, so 
that the directions destroy each other. In youth 
these natures love bodily courage, because their 
strength can easily and expeditiously express 
itself. They are the persons who seem to be 
best fitted for the enjoyment of all that is 
beautiful, and for the moral development of 
the whole man. The evidence which I hold 
against you, Richard, disagrees in every re- 
spect with my previous estimate of your char- 
acter.’^ 

Mr. Keeni’s listener looked gratefully up, 
but did not reply. 

have never known you to be deceitful or 
untruthful.” 

Richard’s lips quivered but he did not 
speak. He was one of those boys who have 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


n 


exactly at the melting point the greatest 
appearance of hardening, as snow freezes before 
a thaw. 

I must request an answer. Again I ask 
you; did you set those merits down to your- 
self? 

I did not, sir.^^ 

Were they set down' with your consent or 
connivance ? 

They were not, sir.^^ 

Did you know they were there ? 
would rather hot say anything about it, 

sir.^^ 

Undoubtedly. You know that I hold that 
individuality, is everywhere to be spared and 
respected, as the root of everything good; but 
it is necessary that you should tell me what 
you know of this affair.’^ 

Mr. Keeni^s tone was becoming severe. 
Kichard assumed a dogged expression. 

“ You refuse to give any explanation ? 

I cannot say anything about it,^' 


*78 THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 

Mr. Keeni had the rare gift to understand, 
and the common misfortune not to be generally 
understood by his pupils. He now said, 

Since all experiences are so dear — since 
they cost us either our days, or our energies,, 
or our illusions, let me counsel you not to 
allow any false sense of honor to prevent you 
from obeying those properly set in authority 
over you.^^ 

While Richard listened, he proved that the 
feelings are preserved most keenly sensitive 
beneath an armor of ice, as the most delicate 
and susceptible skin lies beneath the finger- 
nails. While the master spoke, the boy had 
great difficulty in keeping his whole Vesuvius 
under, but he succeeded in remaining silent. 

“ If you knew those marks were accredited 
to you, and allowed them to remain, the de- 
ception is the same, as if you had made them 
with your own hand.’^ 

Richard’s eyes flamed. “I have not de- 
ceived anybody,” he burst out. 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


19 


“Under the circumstances I cannot believe 
you without proof/^ returned the master. 

“You have no right to say that/^ roared 
Richard. 

Most teachers in Mr. Keeni’s place would 
have exhibited some irri^tion at being ad- 
dressed in the tone which Richard now as- 
sumed, but this teacher was a man to whom 
the day of life, from dawn to dark, was em- 
phatically the Day after which the Night com- 
eth, wherein no man can work. There was in 
him a candor of nature, that saved him from 
the narrowness that often marks the compact 
established mind. He was silent for a moment 
or two, during which Richard shook from head 
to foot, as 'was his wont when extremely ex- 
cited. Then he said, in a low steady voice, 

“You read this morning that God puts hu- 
man souls into every position, as a man does 
his watch, into perpendicular and horizontal 
positions, • easy and uneasy ones, in order to 
see whether it goes well. You are now in one 


80 


THE . SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 

of those uneasy positions. You have failed in 
the respect due from your position to mine. 
You will not appear in this room again until 
you are willing to offer a satisfactory explana- 
tion and apology. 

Richard saw only kindness in the master^s 
face. His eyes filled with tears, partly of an- 
ger and partly of repentance, but when he 
tried to speak he only choked. 

“No ideal must be given up, else the holy 

fire of life goes out began Mr. Keeni, 

when Richard said all at once, 

“ I am sorry, now, sir, that I spoke so.^’ 

“That is sufficient,’^ said the master. “To- 
morrow, after you have reflected upon the 
matter, I shall expect a full explanation of 
what you know with regard to the merit 
marks.” 

He then shook hands with his pupil, and 
bade him good-afternoon. 

Outside the school-house, Richard' found as 
at noon a few boys awaiting his coming with 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT, 


81 


curiosity. Two or three emerged from the 
barn, as he tnade his appearance, and he was 
immediately assailed with questions. 

Did the master guess rightf 
What did he say ? 

^‘What made you look so queer?’’ 

Richard singled out little Robert Fry, and 
asked him where Harry Irving was. 

“ Tim says he went to ride with his father 
and mother.” 

Tim was the boy who drove the cows. 

Seeing the look of disappointment in Rich- 
ard’s face, Robert Fry added, 

“ If you’ll tell me what you want of him, 
I shall see him to-night, maybe.” 

“ No doubt. Bob Pry,” said one of the older 
boys. 

Richard walked irresolutely down the yard, 
accompanied by the other boys. 

“ Jim Eeling said he sh’d a’ thought you’d 
known better’n to make all those marks in an 
even little row,” said heavy-eyed Charley Gra- 


82 THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 

ham, as he sauntered along, with his fat hands 
crammed into his pockets. 

‘‘Did he say demanded Richard, 

glaring at the last speaker. “Where is he 
now ? 

“ Gone home,^^ returned Charley, bringing 
the whole sledge hammer force of his phleg- 
matic temperament to bear upon tho two words, 
and not observing that he had caused any irri- 
tation. 

Richard took the road which led to James 
Eeling’s home. When he arrived, he learned 
from one of the younger children that James 
had not returned from school. 

Following a short cut by a well-worn path 
through the fields on his return, he walked 
slowly along, his mind filled with unpleasant 
thoughts. The path he had taken had been 
kept open with pertinaceous fidelity by the 
cow-boys. It was an irregular track over 
rough ground between the two pieces of high- 
road which had usurped its place, and had 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


83 


occasional ramifications into the surrounding 
woods. Looking ahead, Eichard espied James 
Eeling coming along the path towards him. 

James walked slowly with his eyes upon the 
ground, but when he was within a few yards 
of ^Richard, he looked up and recognized him 
with a start. 

If we must judge of the pleasure of the 
heart by the pleasure of the eye, James was 
not overjoyed at the prospect of meeting his 
rival. It was, however, too late to avoid him. 
Eichard paused near the stump of an old tree, 
and placing himself across the pathway, asked 
in a defiant voice, 

''Did you tell the boys you should have 
thought I would have known better than to 
have made those marks in an even little row ? 

The two boys stood facing each other. 
Richard was a well-grown lad, broad shoul- 
dered and sinewy, with a clear healthy com- 
plexion, gray eyes and curling brown hair. 
James, who was about six months his senior. 


84 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


was a couple of inches taller, but lacked some- 
what the other’s robust air. His eyes were 
small and dark, and his complexion usually 
rather pale was at the present moment sallow. 
His ambition to excel in his studies led him 
to neglect the invigorating out-of-door sports 
in which his rival delighted. 

I don’t know what you’re talking about. 
Stand out of the way a little. I want to go 
home,” said James. 

“ I’ve no doubt you do,” returned Richard, 
^'but you can’t, until you’ve answered my 
question.” . 

James looked at the angry eyes, and consult- 
ing his dislike to a personal encounter with 
their owner, said, first looking round to see if 
any one were within ear-shot. 

What’s the use of getting mad about noth- 
ing, Dick ? Why can’t you and I be friends ? 
I don’t know anything about the merit marks, 
nor care anything about them.” 

We’ll see about that,” returned Richard 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. ' 85 

with a snort. '"Did you say that thing to the 
boys, or didn’t you ? ” 

I’m sure I can’t remember everything that 
I say to the boys.” 

You know you said it.” 

“ Well, what of it ? ” 

“You knew when you told the boys so, that 
you were telling a mean lie. You know as 
well as I do that I never set down one of 
those marks.” 

“ I don’t se^ how I am to know it,” re- 
turned James, who, seeing a quarrel inevitable 
determined to support his part as best he 
could. “Does Mr. Keeni know it?” 

This question hit Richard sorely. The mas- 
ter who had hitherto never doubted his word, 
had said to him on the present afternoon, 
“ under the circumstances, I cannot believe you 
without proof.” 

Smarting under a sense of his many injuries, 
Richard suddenly aimed a blow at James, say- 


86 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


“ 1^11 teach you what you are to know.^^ 

James avoided the blow, and made hasty 
preparations to defend himself. 

Stepping back a few paces he threw his jack- 
et at the foot of the old tree stump, thus gain- 
ing the first decided advantage, for Eichard, 
who was too angry to give* a thought to any- 
thing but the matter in hand, continued to rain 
heavy and oftentimes ineffectual blows upon 
his antagonist, having so thorongh a contempt 
for the other’s prowess that he disdained to 
husband his strength. 

James all the while remained cool and cau- 
tious, dodging blows, and giving few, but 
those well considered, until Eichard, finding 
the job likely to prove ' a more difficult one 
than he had at first supposed, paused, took 
breath, and for the first time noticed the ad- 
vantages he had lost. His strength was some- 
what spent, his jacket sleeves were partly 
ripped out, the knees of his pantaloons were 
covered with mud whore he had occasionally 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 87 

slipped in his frantic efforts. James stood at 
a little distance, uninjured, except by a few 
scratches, his jacket lying near by, clean and 
whole, his pantaloons unsoiled. 

“You fight just as you do anything else, 
you mean thing I foamed Richard. 

“ So do you, honorable one ! retorted James, 
not a little elated with the progress he had 
made, and beginning to feel a certain confidence 
in himself. 

Richard noticed the change in his manner 
and was advised by it still further of his own 
carelessness. 

When the fight again commenced, James 
found it a more serious matter. What Richard 
had lost in strength, he made up in skill, 
and the contest seemed nowise likely to be 
decided immediately, when it was terminated 
by an accident. 

Both boys, bruised and sore, watched their 
opportunity, rather than the ground upon which 
they stood, which shelving in and out and 


88 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


covered with stones, afforded a most precarious 
footing. 

In stepping backward to avoid his antago- 
nist’s clenched fist, James hit his heel upon a 
stone and falling sideways against the tree 
stump, lay motionless against its foot I 

Richard saw with horror a small stream of 
blood slowly oozing from under the- hair at the 
back of James’ head, and dropping to the 
ground. 

Was he dead or had he fainted ? Richard 
looked round for assistance but nobody was in 
sight. The spot where the boys had met was 
removed from any street or house, and except 
for driving the cows across lots, or for shorten- 
ing the distance home to a day-laborer, was 
not much used. 

Richard remembered in despair that the cows 
and workingmen had probably all gone home, 
and that he must either remain where he was 
until somebody chanced that way, or leave the 
lifeless body while he ran 'for assistance. 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


89 


Having sat upon the ground for about eighty 
seconds, which seemed an intolerably long time, 
he decided to go in search of aid, when he. saw 
a man advancing in the path towards him. 

So much of loitering and indolence and im- 
pulse had gone to the formation of the charac- 
ter of the new-comer, that all which is stiff and 
military in the appearance of ordinary individ- 
uals had been left out of him. He habitually 
followed the windings of the paths to and from 
his accustomed haunts, striking into the natu- 
ral lines, and conforming to them, nestling into 
hollows, and avoiding puddles, without giving 
a thought to time or occupation, very much 
^ter the fashion of the woodchucks, the robins, 
the bees, and the swallows, who used the same 
convenient thoroughfares. 

Richard recognized Lazy Joe, an idle fellow 
who had some years before been discharged from 
the State Prison. Misery cannot chose its com- 
panions, and our hero hailed him with anxious 
cordiality. 


90 


TiE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


** Eh? What's up now ? " The man stood 
staring at the bruised and muddy figure before 
him^ and the lifeless form at his feet. 

“ He fell and hit his head against the 
tree." 

^Mos' likely. An' what was you a doin' of, 
when he fell an' hit his head ? " returned the 
man, with a grin. 

I was going to give him a square stroke. 
We've been fighting. I hadn't the least idea 
he could fight so well. I didn't take any pains 
at first." 

‘^Sh'd think likely you took some at th' last, 
then, from th' ^pearances." 

Do you think he's much hurt ? " inquired 
Richard, not liking the expression upon Joe's 
face. 

Look's if he wouldn't be likely ter fight 
agin, in a hurry." 

Can't we carry him home between us?" 

“ Shouldn't want ter try it." 

Why not?" Wont you help me, Joe? I 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


91 


can’t leave him here alone. He might die. 
Bleed to death, you know? ” 

** Might die? Sh’d think not. It’s my opin- 
ion’t he’s as dead as he’s ever likely ter be.” 

Richard could not reply. He leaned help- 
lessly against the tree stump, while Joe bent 
over James’ body and placed his hand above 
the heart. 

He’s dead ’nough. What yer goin’ to do 
now ? ” 

Richard did not raise his eyes to the man’s 
face, or he would have noticed there an expres- 
sion of cunning and malignity : after a very 
long pause he asked in a trembling voice, 

‘ What can we do ? ” 

“ Wef I hain’t got nothin’ ter do with it. 
Don’t try ter drag me inter the muss. I’ve 
been dragged inter ’nough in my time. You’ll 
be took up most likely. They took me up for 
not doin’ half so much. I don’t know as they 
hang boys of your size,” continued Joe, spec- 
ulatively, twisting his 'head on one side and 


92 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


watching his victim thorough one half closed 
eye. 

What do you mean, Joe ? suddenly quer- 
ied Kichard, astonished out of his wretched- 
ness. 

I mean’t I’m glad I ain’t in your shoes.” 

‘‘Why? Don’t stare at me so.” 

“P’r’haps you don’t understand yer own 
sitooation ?”. drawled Joe, still with his head 
on one side and his eyes half closed. 

“No. I don’t know what you mean, and I 
never thought you were such an ugly fellow 
before.” 

“Oh! yer never did; did yer? Wal, then, 
I won’t trouble ye with my company now, so 
good evenin’,” and Lazy Joe began to slowly 
shuffle away. 

“ 1 say,” cried out Richard, “ you’re not 
going off in this way. I’ll pay you, if you’ll 
run for a doctor.” 

“ And get took up for murder ? No yer don’t. 
I was took up once for next to nothin’.” 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


93 


Richard groaned aloud. I suppose I shall 
have to carry him home myself, or take him a 
little aside out of the path and then run for 
help.'^ 

“Look here,^' said Joe, turning back, 
“p’r’aps I ain’t quite so bad as you think. I’ll 
tell you in three words how’t’ll be. When you 
get home, nobody’ll believe your story. That 
boy’s dead sure ’nough, however he come so. 
You say’t he fell agin a tree. Other folks 
( knowin’ your temper) ’ll say’t you hit him on 
the head. You’ll be took up’n tried’n sent to 
prison (take my word for it, I know ) ’n p’r’aps 
you’ll be hung.” 

The matter being thus presented, Richard, 
leaning against the stump, began to consider. 
Lazy Joe, still watching the boy’s face narrowly, 
continued : 

“ I’ll tell yer what I’m willin’ ter do. I’m 
willin’ ter help ye ter ’scape, ’cause yer family 
’ll feel so bad about it. Ye wouldn’t want ter 
drag them down yer know. I don’t bear ye 


94 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


no grudge although yeVe always set yerself 
above me. Now I’ll carry the body to a safe, 
out-the-way place, say under yonder tree, and 
then I’ll manage so’t somebody’ll happen 
that way before long, and take it home to his 
folks. It’ll give ye time to get out of the 
way. They’ll be sure to hunt ye out sooner 
or later, though. I’d run off to sea, if I was 
you. ’Twon’t be so easy findin’ ye then.” 

‘‘ I haven’t done anything wrong — not very 
bad, like that,^’ said Richard, half resolutely, 
half despondingly. 

“ That’s nothin’ ter do with it. It isn’t what 
a boy’s done, but what they can make out ter 
prove agin him, that stands in law. Do yer 
want ter be like me ? When they let ye out of 
prison ( if they don’t hang ye) ye’ll be just 
like me all yer days — hooted at and spit on.” 

Richard looked at the worn figure, haggard 
face and bloodshot eyes of the outcast who 
addressed him, and felt a sudden pity, and at 
the same time a sudden loathing for him, 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


95 


What if the man spoke the truth ? What if 
some terrible misfortune such as he had hinted 
at had blasted his whole life ? 

‘'Joe/’ he exclaimed, “if I thought I should 
ever be like you I should rather die now.” 

“That’s just what ye’ll be, as sure as ye 
don’t run off’ now. Everybody knows yer tem- 
per, and everybody’s alwuz ’spected ye’d kill 
somebody Now there’s no proof that ye 
hain’t, and ye’ll catch it if the lawyers can 
manage it.” 

Richard thought of his parents, his sister 
Kate, his school career, and then of the fearful 
possibility held up by Lazy Joe. He looked 
about him. It was the same spot he had trav- 
ersed a hundred times. In the deeper recesses 
of the wood were the familiar bunches of 
climbing fern, and the wood-thrush, yet before 
him one object rendered the whole scene 
unreal. 

“ P’r’aps yer father can smooth it up for 


96 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 


ye, after yeVe been gone a little while, 
and then ye can let him know where ye are, 
and come home agin. I hate to see ye took 
all of a sudden, as I was.’^ 

May be you’re right, Joe : but it’s pretty 
hard.” 

'‘I don’t charge ye nothin’ for my ’dvice, 
but I’m a poor man and 1 hain’t had a spare 
half dollar this many a day.” 

Eichard immediately gave him a dollar Bill — 
all the money he had. 

‘‘Thank’ee sir,” said the man, touching his 
torn hat, ‘‘ and ye’d better hurry.” 

Eichard took a sudden resolution ; be bent 
over the inanimate form upon the ground, 
placed his ear at the mouth and nostrils, and 
laid his hand upon the heart. There was no 
sign of life, and the blood collected in a little 
pool at the back of the head had ceased to 
flow. 

How easy it is to kill a person,” he said 
with a shudder ; and without a look backward 


THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT. 9T 

he ran towards his own home. It is said that 
people overwhelmed with trouble do not look 
behind. They know too well that misfortune 
follows them. 


98 


JACOB AND MARGERY, 


CHAPTER VII. 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


S Richard ran, it seemed to him that all 
courage, all self-reliance, all comfort in 
life had been suddenly crushed out of him. 

He scarcely knew why he ran, but acting 
upon the instinct of self-preservation, he en- 
tered the house unperceived, changed his torn 
and soiled jacket and pantaloons, made a small 
bundle of under-clothipg, and then sat down at 
his writing desk, and wrote* the following note : 

Dear Father and Mother y 

Something dreadful has happened. 
I cannot understand it. Joe Tibbetts says I 
shall be taken up for murder. I have not time 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 99 

to explain, but you know I never could do such 
a thing. Good bye all. 

Your affectionate son 

Kichard.^' 

He left the note open upon his desk, took 
his jack-knife and pocket-book containing three 
dollars and a half, and the little bundle of 
clothing, and went softly down stairs, and out 
at the side door, without meeting any member 
of the family. 

Through the open window he heard Mr. 
Bastachio endeavoring to explain the science of 
music to his bewildered pupil. 

Regard the tonic not only by itself, but 
also in reference to every other tonic, as to 
its related mode of modulation, and which, 
also, in the degree of its relationship has refer- 
ence to all collateral relationships, and thence 
again, as such, can make itself valid, so sees 
one easily how all possible combinations of 
three tones by means of simple harmony-springs 
can follow one another. 


100 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


'' I cannot understand/’ said Katy, in a 
troubled voice. 

“ Why, do you not see that the simple 
harmony-interval is when, between two chords 
that follow one another, a harmony is heard in 
the understanding ? ” 

Katy drew a deep sigh, which Richard dis- 
tinctly heard, but he did not now, as had been 
his habit, smile, at his sister’s hopeless mysti- 
fication. 

Things which are amusing when one is joyful, 
are mournful when one is sad. 

Richard listened to catch the sound of his 
sister’s voice once more, but only Mr. Bas- 
tachio’s erudite explanation, and the piano-tones 
met his ear. 

At a little distance from the house, he turned 
after he had reached a clump of willow trees, 
to look back at his home. 

There are a thousand concealed fitnesses in 
nature of which we are only aware when they 
are forced upon our observation. 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


101 


The house itself, to a stranger, had not a 
signature of character about it; it exhibited 
the plain, unornamental appearance of a Yankee 
farm-house ; but to Eichard’s eyes the edifice, 
sufficiently spacious, low of stature, and with 
a long slope of back roof, seemed so fitted to 
the locality, that the landscape could not have 
been perfect without it. A front door, sheltered 
by a small portico, opened into a hall which 
led straight through the building, with a parlor 
and two bed-rooms on one side, and a dining- 
room and kitchen on the other. In the rear 
was a low wing, serving as w^sh-house, lumber- 
room, and wood-shed. The white clapboards 
and green blinds were neither freshly painted 
nor rusty, but just sedately weather-worn. The 
grounds, the long wood-piles, the barn and its 
adjuncts, were all in that state of neatness and 
order for which the Peters place was noted. 
Every detail of the picture photographed itself 
upon the mind of the boy who gazed. The 
spot was so associated with his very existence, 


102 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


that, separated from it, he seemed to lose his 
own identity. After that one long look, he 
turned and ran on without noticing what direc- 
tion he took, only making sure that he increased 
the distance between himself and the dreadful 
locality which Lazy Joe occupied. 

When he was too tired to run or walk farther, 
he sat down on the ground, enclosed by a 
little thicket of low bushes, and endeavored to 
collect his thoughts. The first feeling of which 
he was distinctly conscious, was that of being 
degraded ; something of the sort of feeling 
which he had always imagined fat Charlie 
Graham to have had when on the first day that 
he went to school, his shy, frightened face 
marked him a fair game for the rougher boys 
— that class of pupils who had ever since 
contrived to subject Charlie to all those exquis- 
ite refinements of torture which boys seem to 
get by the direct inspiration of evil. There 
was no form of the bullying meanness or the 
cowardice of the brutal strength of these 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 103 

stronger lads which Richard had not seen 
Charlie endure, and for which he had often 
pitied but had never before been able to sympa- 
thize with him. 

Sitting alone on the ground, our hero began 
to have an inkling of what it is to be the butt 
of a community without the power to defend 
oneself. 

Presently he arose feeling somewhat rested, 
and walked disconsolately on. Before him at 
no great distance, was a large barn, and he 
knew that just behind the barn and under 
the hill, there was a log house, in which 
dwelt a negro couple, who, in the course of 
years had become fixtures. Jacob, the man, 
was a blacksmith by trade, and in addition to 
this calling, he did odd jobs for the farmers 
about ; sometimes taking the grain to mill, or 
the turkeys to market, so that through his 
hands passed a portion of the incomings and 
outgoings of many of the neighboring farms. 
Margery, his wife, took in washing, in addition 


104 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


to keeping the hut bright and cheerful inside, 
although outside it had a forlorn, tumble-down 
aspect. 

In the neighborhood Jacob was sure of one 
boy with whom at all times he could feel 
completely at ease — of one who never joined 
in the general habit of making his name the 
butt of ridicule or contempt. This was Richard 
Peters, who living nearly three miles from the 
negroes log hut, had won the black man^s good- 
will by seivices, sometimes so trifling that the 
thought of a favor conferred never entered his 
mind, and Jacob knew it did not and therefore 
appreciated it as only those lowly in estate 
can appreciate kindness. 

The people of the neighborhood, unaccus- 
tomed to look below the externals of appear- 
ance and manner, saw in Jacob’s shrinking face 
and awkward motions only the signs of a 
-cringing abject soul, which opinion helped to 
keep the negro’s position “before folks” 
uncomfortable and depressing. Richard in a 


JACOB AND MAKGERT. 105 

-boyish way had detected a streak of most 
unconscious goodness under these uncouth, 
embarrassed ways, and had at different times, 
unknown to himself, cultivated it, and there 
was a sort of confidence established between 
the two. 

Richard’s father had discovered that Jacob 
was a steady, faithful hand in the harvest-field, 
at husking-time, or whenever any extra labor 
was required, and so the black man, always 
glad of an opportunity to earn an extra penny, 
fell into the habit of spending an hour after 
work was over, of an occasional Saturday 
evening, in the- kitchen of the Peters farm 
house, where Richard and Kate, assisted some- 
times by one of the other children, had taught 
him to read and write. Jacob in turn shared 
his acquirements with his wife Margery, and 
this small stream of knowledge greatly refreshed 
the simple and somewhat dreary life of the 
lonely couple. 

Now, as Richard walked toward the log hut. 


106 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


he felt that he drew near to the house of a 
friend. He paused within a few yards of the 
door, just where a path turned off into the 
fields and woods beyond, and looked about. 
Some spirit in the sweet, delicious freshness 
of the air, some voice in the mellow babble 
of the stream, leaping in and out of sight 
between the alders, some smile of. light, linger- 
ing on the rising cornfields beyond the meadow, 
and the melting purple of a distant hill, reached 
to the seclusion of his heart. He was soothed 
and cheered ; he lifted his head in the presen- 
timent of a future less dark than Lazy Joe had 
predicted, and setting his cap up a little on his 
forehead, was about to advance to the door, 
when suddenly, at a turn of the path, two 
mowers, belated from the meadow, with their 
scythes upon their shoulders, came upon him. 
He had not heard their feet on the deep turf, 
and a sudden fear that the dreadful crime of 
which Joe had spoken was about to be 
laid to his charge, caused his head to sink ; 


JACOB AXD MARGERY. 10 *7 

then with a desperate effort he raised it again, 
and, darting a rapid side glance at the men, 
hastened by. The men, two strangers hired for 
the season by a farmer, could not understand 
the mixed defiance and supplication of his 
face. 

“ Been committing a murder, have you ? 
asked one of them, grinning, hitting by one 
of those singular chances which sometimes 
occur, upon the sorest point in the thoughts 
of the boy they were passing. 

The next instant they were gone, and Richard, 
with set teeth, smothered something that would 
have been a shout of defiance if he had given 
it voice. A look of surprise, pain, and discour- 
agement, which had never visited his face now 
settled upon it. 

“I wonder how they could have known 
he said half aloud, and for a moment the idea 
of making the inquiry of them took posession 
of him. Then he shook his head and walked 
up to the iog hut. 


108 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


Margery, who opened the door, wore a smart 
gingham dress, and her first exclamation was : 
“ Why, Mister Richard ! how down you look,^^ 
Then looking closely at him she said, ^'Jake 
will be powerful glad to see ye.^^ 

Jacob came forward, and pushing his wife 
aside from the door way, said, ^‘Clar out de 
way, ole woman, an^ let Mister Richard show 
hisself. All right at your fader^s house, Mister 
Richard ? 

‘‘All right, there, Jake.^’ 

Something in the boy^s tone awakened the 
quick sympathy of the negro. Tact is a native 
quality of the heart no less than a social 
acquirement, and so Jacob did the very thing 
necessary without thinking much about it. 

“ Come right into dis yere poor place and 
rest yerself. Mister Richard. De corn cake’s 
hot, an’ de bacon’s jes’ crisp. ’Spose likely 
yer fader’s wantin’ me for a job ? ” 

“Not just now, Jake, that I know of,” said 
Richard, throwing himself on the little gaudy 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


109 


lounge which stood against one side of the 
only room on the ground floor. 

No more inquiries were made. Margery 
busied herself in giving -a few flnishing touches 
to the evening meal. The pine table, scoured 
white, was ornamented with a large brass 
candle-stick in honor of the newly arrived 
guest. It being still daylight, a few dande- 
lions and poppies were stuck into the cavity 
usually occupied by the candle. 

Richard, noting these preparations, felt his 
heavy heart somewhat lightened. In the midst 
of his unhappiness, he recognized the dande- 
lions and poppies as tokens of love for him- 
self. 

When he was seated at the table, over which 
Jacob asked a fervent blessing, he discovered 
that all the distress he had undergone had not 
taken away his appetite, but on the contrary 
had increased it to such an extent, that Mar- 
gery^s eyes twinkled with satisfaction, when 
she saw that there was not a scrap of the 


no 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


bacon nor a crumb of the corn cake left, at 
the conclusion of the meal. 

‘‘ Mister Richard, honey, de ole man^s got 
suffin to show you, out yender by the ' coop, 
she said, with what would have been a chuckle, 
if she had not felt that her guest was not in 
a mood to listen to her overflowing satisfaction. 

“ Shet up, ole woman,^^ replied her husband, 
attempting to hide the grin which overspread 
his features. “ It’s nothin’ Mister Richard, 
only a little of suffin’ t mebbe you’d like to 
look at.” 

With this explanation, Jacob led the way to 
the hencoop, while Margery washed the supper 
dishes. 

“It’s only a ring dove ez I bought with 
spare money for Miss Kate,” said Jacob, show- 
tag in a separate compartment of the coop, a 
pretty bird gone to its rest for the night. 

“ Oh, Jake I ” cried Richard, “ It’s' just what 
Katie wants. What a beautiful one 1 ” 

Jacob’s black eyes glistened with delight. 


Jacob and Margery. 


Ill 


“You’s alwuz uncommon good ^bout praisin’ 
my things. Tears like I never could forget 
them clo’es ez you stood up for,” said Jacob, 
lifting the dove off the roost, and holding it 
tenderly in his hand. 

It had once happened that, on a Saturday 
in the beginning of haying-time, Jacob had 
arrayed himselt in a new suit of light summer 
clothes. The day’s work being over, he had 
tried them on after supper, and Margery’s ad- 
miration had been so loud and emphatic that 
he felt greatly pleased with his purchase. 

“Now don’t go for to take ’em off, Jake,” 
said Margery. “ I ^spec’ you’re gwine over 
to Mister Peterses, and so you jist keep ’em 
on, to show them chil’en how nice you Jdn 
look.” 

The same thought had already entered 
Jacob’s mind. Poor fellow I it was the highest 
form of the pleasure of ostentation of which he 
had ever been able to conceive. If he had 
been called upon to exhibit himself before the 


112 


JACOB AND MABGERY. 


village lads just as school was dismissed, on 
first assuming the new clothes, every stitch 
would have pricked him as if the needle 
remained in it ; but a quiet walk down the river- 
side, by the pleasant path through the thickets 
and over the fragrant meudows, with a con- 
sciousness of his own neatness and freshness 
at every step, and with Richard^s and Kate^s 
commendation at the close, and the flattering 
curiosity of the other children — the only ones 
who never made fun of him — all that was a 
delightful prospect. lie could never, never 
forget he was black, as his wife Margery 
sometimes could, but to remember himself 
agreeably, even though he were black, was 
certainly the next best thing. 

J acob, owiug to his uncommon size and 

* 

honest face, woidd at any time have been a 
fine specimen of the African race, but for the 
stoop in his shoulders, and the drooping, 
uneasy way in which he carried his head. 
Many a time, when he was alone in the fields, 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


113 


or woods, he had straightened himself cour- 
ageously ; but when a human face drew near, 
some spring in his neck seemed to snap, and 
he found himself in the old posture. He 
remembered he was black. This ever-present 
thought was the only drop of bitterness in his 
cup when he followed the lonely path through 
the thickets. 

As he emerged from the woods and struck 
the highway whicli led more directly to the 
Peters place, he met a group of four or five 
evil-minded lads, who until he made his appear- 
ance, had been at a loss for some object upon 
which to vent tlieir mischievous propensities. 

‘^There^s Jake dressed up like a peacock ! 
shouted one. 

bran-new, second-hand suit.^^ cried 

4 » 

another. 

''He^s shading himself out to white, cried 
the third, — black 'skin, drab coat, white 
shirt. 

Upon this, the group surrounded him, and 


114 


JACOB AND MARGERY 


being joined by a couple of new comers, began 
to pelt him with stones and mud. Richard 
Peters, returning from fishing with his brother 
Edgar, saw this sight afar off, and rushing 
valorously to the rescue, laid Jacob under 
an additional weight of gratitude. 

Jacob, having seen his persecutors put to 
fiight, was marched off triumphantly between 
Richard and Edgar, to their own home, where 
the new clothes were greatly admired. 

So now, when Jacob saw his young friend 
and champion in a sorrowful mood, yet pleased 
with the little dove, which he held in his 
hand, he repeated, 

“ Tears like I never could forget it.^^ 

‘‘ Why don’t you ever turn to,- and give 
those boys a sound thrashing, when they 
impose upon you, Jake? You could make 
powder of them with one blow from your great 
strong arm.” 

^‘Ile dat is slow to anger is better dan de 
mighty ; and he dat ruleth his spirit dan he 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


115 


dat taketh a city, and when a man’s ways 
please de Lord, he maketh even his enemies 
to be at peace wid him,” quoted the negro. 

“ That’s what Katie says,” replied Richard. 

I say, J ake, I think a good- many folks will 
be surprised on the Judgment Day. Now I 
think you will go right up and sit down at 
the right hand. I mean to tell you just what 
a fix I’m in, and see if you can find anything 
in the Bible to help me out.” 

“Yes, Mister Richard, I’ll try,” assented 
Jacob, and the two sat down on a log near 
the hencoop, while Richard narrated his diffi- 
culties. 

At the conclusion of the recital Jacob seemed 
lost in a reverie. 

“You see I must run off to-night, while it 
is dark, or they’ll be after me,” urged Rich- 
ard. 

“ I dunno. Better stop wid me’n th’ ole 
woman a spell, while I peek round a little. 
We’ll keep yc safe, hid away.” 


116 


JACOB AND MARGERY. • 


''No. I would not bring you into trouble, 
by being found here.^’ 

" Bress ye, honey. Nobody’d ever tink ob 
us. We isn’t consequence ’nough.” 

After a long argument upon the subject, 
Kichard succeeded in bringing J acob round to 
his view of the subject. 

*'I shall start in the night, and travel always 
in the dark,” he explained, " for fear some 
one might recognize me. I do not care for 
myself, but as Joe said, it would be a dread- 
ful disgrace to my family. ” 

" Where’s ye gwine, honey, all ’lone ? ” 

"I hav’n’t decided. Joe advised me to go 
to sea. Perhaps that is the safest ;way, I 
suppose a boy can go anywhere if he’s willing 
to work his passage.” 

" I know suflSn’ ’bout dat. Bress- ye, ye 
never could do it. ’Twould kill ye. Ye a’n’t 
’tall used ter work.” 

"I shall try it, Jake. I think people usually 
go to Liverpool first, when they start from the 


JACOB AND MARGERT. IIY 

United States. I think I will go to Liverpool 
— yes, I will. I might as well go there as 
anywhere. Let me think what I can remember 
about Liverpool. It^s the principal seaport of 
England. Nearly one half of all the products 
exported from England are shipped from this 
port. That’s what the geography says. In 
such ^ place as that there must be a chance 
for a boy to earn his living.” 

“ You knows a powerful sight, Mister 
Richard. It’s a great thing to be eddicated; 
but do ye tink it’s jes’ right to go off in dis 
way, widout lettin’ yer folks know ? ” 

“ Which is nearer right, Jacob? To stay at 
home and be put in prison for what I have 
not done, or to go away and earn my own 
living ? ” 

The negro rumh^ted, looking sorely per- 
plexed, then brightened up suddenly and said, 
‘‘ ’Pears like as I couldn’t make out where 
de wrong is, but it’s somewhere. Won’t ye 
write down on a bit of paper the name o’ that 


118 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


place where ye’re gwine, so’t ef suffin should 
happen for yer ’dvantage, I could let ye 
know. Ye member’t I kin write, thanks to ye 
and Miss Kate.” 

Jacob went into the house and brought out 
a sheet of paper on which Richard wrote with 
a lead pencil, in a large plain hand, 

‘‘ Richard Peters, , 

Liverpool, 

England, 

and then with a somewhat rueful countenance, 
laid the paper down on the log. Jacob took 
it up, folded it carefully, and put it between 
the leaves of his well-worn Bible which lay 
on the three legged stand inside the house. 
This accomplished, he returned to his seat on 
the log and inquired. 

What time to-night- mu^ ye start, honey 

‘^As soon as it is dark enough.” 

‘'I kin tell ye suflSn’ better’n dat. I’ve got 
to take a lot of traps over to Mr. Goodin’s 
(that’s a matter o’ twelve mile) for Squire 


JACOB AND MARGERY. 


119 


Chester, and I kin give ye a lift that far. I 
was gwine to start at four o’clock in the 
momin’ but a couple o’ hours earlier would 
get me through all the sooner. Ye must be 
powerful tired now, wid all ye’ve been troo 
to-day, and ye’d better go right to bed and 
get what sleep ye ken. I’ll call ye’t ’zactly 
the time.” 

Upon consideration, Richard assented to the 
proposition, and half an hour afterward found 
himself snugly tucked into the only bed which 
the house contained. Despite all remonstrance, 
Jacob and Margery would listen to no other 
arrangement than that which extended them 
upon the pine floor of the room beneath that '^ 
in which their guest reposed, and Richard, 
finding how their hearts were set upon carry- 
ing out their plan of hospitality, finally assented. 

At first the anxiety which he felt, and 
the novel circumstances by which he was 
surrounded, kept him awake, but at length, 
overcome by fatigue, he slept soundly. 


120 


Richard’s flight. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Richard’s fught. 

t N awaking, he heard what he at first 
took to be the voices of his brothers, 
Hubert and Granville, in an adjoining apart- 
ment, but lying still for a few moments, the 
moonlight coming into both windows of the 
little bare room showed its scanty furniture, 
and recalled to his mind the events of the 
preceeding day. Richard listened to the tones 
of the voice that had awakened him. 

What seemed at first to be conversation, 
proved at length to be the voice of Jacob in 
prayer, in the room beneath, and as the sup- 
plication increased in fervor, Richard had no 
difficulty in distinguishing every word. 

Oh Lord, Dou knowest how we love dose 


RICHARD^S FLIGHT. 121 

chillen, ^specially Mister Richard ; seems as do 
Dow hads^t given ’im moreen common chance 
to be a good man. Don knowest Margery’n 
me’s Afraid to tell him what we tinks, so wilt 
Dow please to put it in ^s head for us. Dow 
hast giben him ebery good gift. Even de 
temper dat we’re all ’fraid of, Dou hast giben 
him for some good purpose. Wilt Dow teach 
him how to gobern it. Wilt Dow speak to 
him ’bout it in Dine own way, for dat is de 
best way. Be pleased. Oh Lord, to send a 
holy angel on dis journey wid him, to keep 
him from ebery danger. May eberything he 
looks at remind him ob his Heabenly Fader. 
When he sees de sky, may he say “De 
heabens declare the glory of God ; and the 
firmament sheweth his handy-work. Keep his 
heart clean. Oh Lord, no matter where his 
feet may wander, and may dese yere ole eyes, 
Margery’s ’n mine, behold him again in de 
fiesh, filled wid Dy grace and heabenly bene- 
diction for de Saviour’s sake. Amen.” 


122 


Richard’s flight. 


After this, all was quiet for a moment, and 
Richard, lying upon Jacob and Margery’s hard 
bed reflected upon what he had heard. 

So it had come to this ? ” His temper had 
become so ungovernable that even this simple, 
true friend had not dared to speak plainly to 
him I While Richard thought the matter over, 
he crept softly out of bed, and went up to the 
window. The moonlight poured splendidly 
upon the open turf, beyond a sycamore which 
stood close by the window, and a tall lilac- 
bush and trellis of woodbine made nooks of 
shade wherein he gazed as he considered. 

While he stood there, the door of the cham- 
ber opened, and Margery entered before he 
was aware of it. 

“ Bress ye, honey. How long ye been 
’wake? Jake tol’ me to call ye, while he 
went for to tackle.” 

A few moments after Richard had put on 
his clothes, Jacob drove the wagon to the 
door, and hitching the horses to the post near 


RICHARD^S FLIGHT. 


123 


the house, entered and washed his face and 
hands before sitting down to the comfortable 
breakfast which Margery had prepared. 

Richard could partake of the meal but spar- 
ingly. 

Just before they started, Margery thrust an 
old leathern purse into Jacob’s outside coat 
pocket, which he observed without comment. 

De Lord bress ye. Mister Richard, and 
bring ye back safe,’’ were Margery’s parting 
words. 

Richard kissed the kind woman on both 
cheeks, and mounted by the side of her hus- 
band, the board which served as a seat; then 
he looked about the lonely hollow in which 
the log hut lay, and at the shabby old build- 
ing itself, just touched by the moonlight, 
behind the swaying shadows of the tree, and 
he carried away in his mind the picture of 
Margery standing in the door way, with her 
hands raised in blessing. 

The first mile passed in silence, except when 


124 


RICHARD^S FLIGHT. 


Jacob talked to his horses, to whom he was 
in the habit of communicating his ideas. 
When they passed a stately old brick mansion, 
with an avenue of silver firs, and two hundred 
acres of clean, warm-lying land, the finest 
property in all the neighborhood, Jacob 
exclaimed, . 

Dat^s de Sinclair place. Dunno whedder 
you eber come dis way ^fore. Mister Richard 

Then the two fell to talking of the future, 
and such plans as our hero had, he confided 
to his sable friend, but the latter shook his 
head mournfully, as if not at all satisfied with 
the prospect. 

At about four o^clock they reached the end 
of . their journey, and then Jacob drew up 
under a tree by the road-side, and burst forth 
with, — 

“ ’TaVt no use noways, dear chile. I mus^ 
tell ye how Margery’n me can’t bear to have 
ye go off so. ‘Ta’n’t right by no manner o’ 
means, but de Lord kin bring good out of 


Richard’s plight. 


125 


evil, an’ so here’s our savin’s, Margery’s’n 
mine, which we humbly bag ye’ll accept, 
wishin’ ’twas twice as much.” 

With this the black man drew from his . 
outside coat pocket the leathern purse which 
Margery had dropped into it a couple of hours 
before. 

Richard looked at the poor dispised human 
being before him — the man who suffered con- 
stantly from openly expressed contempt — who 
had passed his earlier years in bondage, in one 
of the extreme Southern States, yet whose 
heart had remained so generous and sympa- 
thetic that he freely offered to the boy he 
loved, all that he had been able to save in his 
lifetime — and the spiritual tension of the 
evening and the morning reached its climax : 
he could bear no more. With a strong bodily 
shudder his tears burst forth, and the passion 
of his weeping filled him from head to foot. 
It seemed as if the hot fountains would never 


126 


RICHARD^S FLIGHT. 


Jacob, with a fine tact, which many a more 
cultivated person might have lacked in his 
situation, laid his hand on Richard’s shoulder, 
and remained silent. When the boy looked up 
at last, with his eyes full of feeling he said 
apologetically, 

“ It’s ’bout tree hunderd dollars. ’Nough 
for Margery’n me, but bery little for a young 
gemman like you as has been used to ebery- 
ting all his life.” 

“ You see, Jake, I couldn’t do it,” replied 
Richard, between sobs. “ I’m in trouble 
enough now. I couldn’t take your property. I 
never could hold up my head again if I 
touched a cent of it. I am old enough to 
earn my own living” (another sob) “and not 
half the baby you think me. It makes me 
feel rather — rather — odd, you know, when I 
thought the world had turned against me, to 
find all of a sudden, such a true friend. But 
I couldn’t touch the money, no, no,” (Jacob 
was gently thrusting the purse towards him) 


Richard’s flight. 


127 


but I’ll never forget that you wanted me 
to take it.” 

Then there was much expostulation and 
entreaty on Jacob’s part, but Richard remained 
firm in his refusal until he saw that he had 
hurt the other’s feelings, whelf he accepted 
five dollars, and in spite of all opposition, 
returned the purse containing the remaining 
two hundred and ninety-five dollars to the 
pocket in which Margery had placed it. 

When they were near parting, at Mr. 
Gordon’s, Jacob dismounted and walked part 
way across a meadow at the side of the 
house with Richard, and said, 

“ Don’ ye neber forget dat ye alwuz hab 
One ‘Friend, honey. ’Pears like as do ye 
didn’t tink ob it, dat time when ye said ye 
was s’prised to find one true friend. De 
Lord is alwuz your frien’. Mister Richard. 
Don’ ye go for to forget him neber, will 
ye ? ” 


128 RICHARD^S FLIGHT. 

The appealing look with which these words 
were uttered, drew from their hearer an earnest 
low-voiced response. 

I’ll try not to, Jacob.” 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


129 


CHAPTER IX. 

MAKING ACQUAINTANCES ON THE ROAD. 

FTER he had parted from Jacob, Richard 
walked on filled with a wonderful confus- 
ion of fear and desire. He had his little 
bundle of clothing and a large brown paper 
full of luncheon which Margery had provided. 
Having crossed the meadow and wood at the 
side of Mr. Gordon’s house, he struck again 
upon the highway which followed the course 
of the brook. Southward the road led past a 
house in which lived his mother’s cousin, and 
he longed to see her kind face once more 
before encountering untried hazards : but the 
village was beyond, and he had no courage to 
walk through its one, long street, where, 
according to Lazy Joe’s warning, if the dread- 


130 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


ful tidings had already been spread abroad, he 
might be arrested and sent to prison. 

Northward he would have to pass the mill 
and blacksmith’s shop at the crossroads. Then 
he remembered that he could easily wade the 
stream at a point where it was shallow, and 
keep in the shadow of the woods on the oppo- 
site hill, and two or three miles in that direc- 
tion would take him into a neighborhood 
where he was not known. 

Once in the woods, a sense of freedom 
came upon him. There was nothing of which 
he need to be afraid in the soft, graceful 
stir of the expanded foliage, or the scamper- 
ing of the squirrels over the rustling carpet 
of dead leaves, those sounds which delight 
every boy’s heart. He lay down upon the moss 
and tried to think; he could not clearly recall 
the keen troubles and anxieties he had endured : 
all things were so peaceful and beautiful that 
a portion of their peace and beauty fell upon 
the events of the past evening and night, and 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


131 


even upon Lazy Joe, and invested them with 
a more kindly character. 

He partook of the luncheon which Margery 
had provided, and then while he was wonder- 
ing what they would say and do at home after 
his flight was discovered, and they had read 
his note, he dropped into a sound sleep. At 
the end of a couple of hours he awoke much 
refreshed, and continued on his way. 

Towards noon he found himself beyond 
the limited circle of his travelling experi- 
ence. 

In the middle of the day he stopped at a 
farm-house by the roadside to get a drink of 
water. A pleasant woman, who came from 
the door at that moment with a pitcher, 
allowed him to lower the bucket and haul it 
up dripping with precious coolness. She looked 
upon him with good-will, for something in the 
appealing expression of his eyes went to her 
heart. 

“ We’re going to have dinner in five min- 


132 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


utes/’ said she; '‘won^t you stay and take 
something ? 

Richard stayed and ate dinner with the 
plain, hospitable family. Their kindly attention 
to him, and the total lack of prying curiosity 
which they exhibited, made the place seem so 
safe a shelter, that for a moment he resolved 
to offer his services to the farmer, but he 
was afraid the place was too near home. 

Towards night he reached an old country 
tavern. The landlord and hostler and a boy 
of about fifteen years of age were inspecting 
a drooping-looking horse in front of the stables. 
Richard drew near, listened to the views of 
the two men, while the boy eyed him from 
head to foot. 

The detection of the ailment and prescrip- 
tion 0^ a remedy occupied nearly an hour, and 
then Richard went to the supper room, having 
during the hour installed himself in the best 
graces of the hostler and chore-boy. When he 
went to bed he was surprised on reflecting 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


133 


that he had not only been talking for a full 
hour in the stable with the chore-boy, but had 
been among grown up people without once 
remembering his fear of being arrested. 

After he had settled his bill in the morning, 
which amounted to one dollar, he found he had 
seven dollars and a half remaining, and he 
sought out his acquaintance of the previous 
evening and said. 

Bill, do you know of anybody round here 
who would like to hire a boy ? 

Not in them clones you’ve got on,” replied 
the chore-boy, with a shrewd glance at Rich- 
ard’s trim figure. 

These clothes ? ” Up to this time Richard 
had not thought of his outward appearance. 

‘‘Them clo’es tell as plain’s day’t you’ve run 
away from school or somewheres,’n then your 
hands show’t you a’n’t used to chores. Look 
at my hands.” 

Richard looked, and inwardly acknowledged 
the force of the boy’s remark. 


134 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


I say, Bill, will you swap clothes with 
me ? 

Oh my eyes I I guess I will. But ^twouldu’t 
be fair.^^ 

“ It^s fair enough if I want to ; and you 
musn^t tell anybody about it, or I shall be 
caught. I have run away from school, and 
home too.^’ 

Yes. I hearn ^em talking it over last 
night, Jim’n the boss.’^ 

''You did ? What did they say ? inquired 
Richard, anxiously. 

"They talked about it awhile. Jim said’t 
the young gentleman was on a lark,^n the boss 
saidT he didn’t care what he was on, if he 
paid his bills. That was the amount on’t.” 

"I’ll pay you something to boot. Bill, if 
you’ll swap clothes with me.” 

" Something to boot 1 My eyes I I wouldn’t 
cheat you’t that rate. I’ll give you my best 
suit,’n that’s poor enough, ’n seventy-five cents. 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


135 


that’s all the cash’t I’ve got, for them clo’es 
you’re standin’ in. My best suit’s clean any- 
way, and a consid’able sight better’n these, 
but they’re fit for a workin’ boy.” 

Le^’s see them. I’ll try them on and you 
can tell me how they fit.” 

In a few moments the clothes were brought 
out, and Richard tried them on. Bill assisted 
at the toilet and commended the result. 

** ’T almost makes a workin’ boy of you. 
The trousers is just a little too short, so’t you 
look’s if you’d outgrown ’em and couldn’t 
afford to buy any others. Oh my eyes'I Don’t 
you look difierent, though I Your hands bein’ 
a little too smooth, you can keep ’em in your 
pocket.” 

How does the jacket fit?” 

’T runs up a leetle on the back, but nothin’ 
to hurt. You don’t look like a fellar’t would 
need a lickin’ very often, but schoolmasters is 
awful ugly sometimes.” 


136 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


'"Oh, our master is always good/^ returned 
Richard, warmly. 

‘‘ Always good I Then what be you runnin^ 
away for? You said you was running away 
from school.’^ f. 

“ So I am. Don^t ask me about it, Bill. I 
don’t like to tell.” 

“No more I won’t, for you’re a fellar’t I 
like, an’ so does Jim. You don’t put on no 
airs’n you a’n’t stingy’n I like your pluck, 
settin’ up for yourself. I 'set up. for myself 
when I was eight years old, but then I had to, 
’cause father died’n mother had consumption. 
I went to a farmer fust’n then I come here. 
Been here ever since’n like the boss fustrate.” 

“You’ll keep my secret?” said Richard. 

“Should like to see the fellar’t could get me 
to let on,” replied the chore-boy, standing very 
straight and looking his questioner full in the 
face. 

“ I didn’t think you would ; but it is of 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 137 

more importance to me than you think, 

''Very likely. You needn^t be afraid’t I 
shall blab, and, Oh, here^s your seventy-five 
cents. The clothes is worth a good deal more 
hut I hav^nt got the money. 

“No, I donT want the seventy-five cents. 
It is more than that amount of accommodation 
to me.^^ 

“Wal, then: you can’t have my clo’es ’nless 
you take the money to boot.” 

So the matter was settled, and before Eich- 
ard went away the chore-boy got an offer from 
the landlord, through Jim, the hostler, of good 
wages to the new-comer if he would stay and 
help look after the stables, but Eichard after 
some hesitation declined the offer, and set 
forward with a new and delightful confidence 
in himself. The knowledge that his clothes 
rendered his recognition improbable quite 
removed his tortured self-consciousness. When 


138 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCES. 


he met a person who was ungracious of speech 
he did not think immediately that he was a 
suspected object. He was sometimes asked 
questions which embarrassed him, but he soon 
hit upon answers which were sufficiently true, 
without betraying his condition. 

Wandering in a somewhat zig zag course, he 
slowly made his way onward, until on the 
afternoon of the sixth day after leaving home 
he found himself weary, and with only ten 
cents in his pocket, in a rougher region — a 
hilly tract, of small and not very flourishing 
farms. Here the season appeared to be more 
backward than in the open country : the hay 
harvest was not yet over. 

Something in the loneliness and quiet of the 
farms reminded Richard of Jacobis log hut; 
and he looked at one house after another, delib- 
erating _witliin himself whether it would not be 
a good place to stay in long enough to earn 
sufficient money to take him to New York, 


Making acquaintances. 


139 


where he hoped to get a chance to work his 
passage to Liverpool. He seemed to be very- 
far from home — about sixty miles in fact — and 
was beginning to feel so homesick that he. 
could scarcely keep from crying himself to 
sleep nights. 


140 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


CHAPTER X. 

HE SECURES A SITUATION. 

JhI^HILE our herO; in his loneliness and 
weariness, revolved in his mind the idea 
of returning home and throwing himself upon 
the mercy of the law, and endeavored to 
calculate the amount of disgrace which would 
fall upon his family, in the event of his being 
sent to prison or hung for the crime which he 
had not committed, the road climbed a low 
pass of the hills, and dropped into a valley on 
the opposite side. There was but one house 
in view — a two-story building of plaster and 
logs, with a garden and orchard on the hill- 
side in the rear. 

Directly before him, he saw at no great 
distance, a woman, seated upon a mowing- 


( 



I 







I 

4 



I 


V 


t ' 







► 




/ 

* 

/ 



* 






RICHARD LOOKING AT THE HAYMAKERS.— 141. 



HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


141 


machine, guiding^ a span of horses around 
the great tract of thick grass which was 
still uncut. A little distance off, a boy and 
girl were raking the drier swaths together, 
and a hay-cart, drawn by oxen and driven 
by a man, was just entering the meadow from 
the side next the barn. 

Richard hung his bundle upon a stake, and 
resting his chin on his arms, leaned on the 
fence and watched the haymakers. As the 
woman came down the nearer side, she 
appeared to notice him. Finally she stopped 
the horses at the corner, alighted, and called 
to the man, who, leaving his team, met her 
half way. They were about thirty rods dis- 
tant, but Richard saw that she pointed to 
him, and that the man looked in the same di- 
rection. Presently she set off across the mea- 
dow, directly towards him. 

When within a few paces of the fence, she 
stopped, threw back her sun-bonnet, and said, 
Good day to you, my lad I 


142 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


Richard, with his chin propped upon the top 
rail of the fence, and feeling exceedingly down- 
hearted, looked into the honest, motherly face, 
and could scarcely keep the tremor from his 
voice, as he replied, 

“ Good day, Ma^am/^ 

You are a stranger I see,^^ she added. 

''Yes, Ma^am, in these parts,’^ he replied. 

"A civil spoken lad, too. Looking for 
work ? ” 

"Yes, Ma^am. I should be glad to find 
something to do.’^ 

"We want help,’^ said the woman. "Our hay 
must be got in while the fine weather lasts.’’ 

" I’ll help you ! ” Richard exclaimed, taking 
his arms from the rail, and looking as willing 
as he felt. 

" The hands are asking a great deal now. 
How much do you expect ? ” 

"Whatever you please. Of course I’m not 
worth as much as a man,” said he, climbing 
the fence. 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 143 

“ What do you say to fifty cents a day and 
found ? '' 

“ All right ! and with the words he was 
already at her side, taking long strides. 

“ I will go on with my mowing, said the 
woman when they reached the horses, “ and 
you can rake and load with my husband. 
What name shall I call you by ? 

“ The boys call me Dick.^^ 

“I like Richard better. Well, Richard, 
I hope you’ll give us all the help you can.” 

With a nod and a pleasant smile she 
mounted the machine. There was a sweet 
throb in Richard’s heart, which if he could 
have expressed it, would have been a trium- 
phant shout of '' I can earn my own living I I 
can earn my own living I ” 

The farmer, Mr. Tetlow, was a kindly, 
depressed man, with whose quiet ways Richard 
instantly felt at home. They worked steadily 
until sunset, when Mrs. Tetlow, detaching her 
horses from the machine, mounted one of them 


144 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


and led the other to the barn. At the supper 
table, the farmer’s wife said to her oldest 
daughter, a humpbacked girl of eighteen years 
of age, whom Richard then saw for the first 
time : 

“Do you feel very tired, Susan?” 

“Not now, mother!” she cheerily answered. 

“ I was, I think, before you all came home, 
but I don’t notice it now.” 

“ I was feeling rather tired, myself, before 
I picked up Richard, but afterward I felt sure 
we should get our hay in,” said the mother.” 

“ If I was able to go out every other day 
in your place, it would help you ever so much, 
wouldn’t it?” asked the girl with -a light sigh. 

This was the only allusion to her infirmity. 

Her father spoke up quickly, and said, 

“ It was a good thing, wife, your picking ^ 
up Richard. He don’t need to be told to S 
work.” ; 

Richard was so happy at finding this haven 
after his wanderings, that he sat and listened 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


145 


in blissful contentment, blushing a little at 
hearing his own praises, but with a smile upon 
his face. The honest people did not seem to 
regard him in the least as a stranger: they 
discussed their family interests and troubles 
and hopes before him, and in a little while it 
seemed as if he had known them always. 

The bright, hot summer days came and went, 
and Richard worked faithfully. How tired he 
felt when night came and the hay-mow was 
filled, and the great stacks grew beside the 
bam ! They reminded him continually ‘of his fa- 
ther’s stacks at home. Old Jacob was perhaps 
assisting his father at that time. He wondered 
if they had ever made any attempt at pursu- 
ing him, and how the body of James Eeling 
had been discovered, and whether his family 
believed him guilty. 

These thought^ occupied his mind by day 
while he worked out-of-doors, and filled his 
dreams at night. 

The humpbacked girl, Susan, discovered in 


146 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


the new hired boy a hidden grief which corres- 
ponded with her ever present consciousness of 
being unlike other girls — a cripple, — and she 
became his fast friend. The haying came to 
an end, and on the last evening at supper, 
everybody was constrained and silent. The 
table-talk, — whereby an eating alone becomes 
a human one — seemed abolished. Th6 Tetlow 
family had not attained the perfection of those 
people of the world, of whom we sometimes 
hear, who, in order to commence spinning a 
conversation, require nothing but a listener ; 
who, like the leaf-frogs, know how to attach 
themselves to the smoothest surfaces, upon 
which they hop ; who are even able to do 
what the leaf-frogs cannot do, maintain them- 
selves in a vacuum, as well of air as of ob- 
jects. 

Mr. Tetlow said, with an effort, 

“ Richard, I wish we could keep you until 
after wheat harvest, but you know we are 
poor, and can’t afford it.” 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


147 


Susan looked grave, and said, 

'‘We seem to suit, like as one family. 
And that reminds me, weVe not heard your 
family name yet.’^ 

“ My family name ! exclaimed Richard, 
with sudden agitation. He was so scared and 
troubled, he could make no 'further reply. 

Susan looked at him quickly, with a bright, 
speaking face. She had noticed his anxiety, 
which she could not understand, and she un- 
knowingly came to his relief. 

" When you go back to your own home, 
you must tell them how well we all got along 
together, and come back and make us a visit 
sometime.’^ 

" I have -liked to be here very much. I 
like — all of you,^^ replied Richard. 

After supper, the farmer and younger chil- 
dren had gone to the barn. The mother was 
busy in the kitchen. Richard and Susan sat 
on the front door-step. Near by ran a black 
brook, palisaded with bright flowers. Above 


148 HE SECURES A SITUATION. 

the water flitted and hovered perpetually the 
water-insects, as if the coming twilight and 
cool had taken wings. Richard tossed a peb- 
ble into the stream, and watched its course ; 
then another, and another. Susan, who bad 
been silent for several moments, said, 

suppose to-day finishes your work here.^^ 

‘‘Yes; and I^m very sorry to go,^^ he an- 
swered slowly. 

“ We don’t want you to, if we could help 
it. How far off is your home ? ” she asked. 

Richard hesitated a moment ; then, seeing 
Susan’s look of quick intelligent sympathy, 
he resolved to tell her the story of his troubles. 

While she listened, astonishment, doubt, and 
warm genial interest appeared by turns in her 
countenance. One or two tears dropped qui- 
etly into her lap as Richard described his 
condition on the day when her mother “ picked 
him up.” 

“Perhaps things are not so bad as you im- 
agine,” she said, when he had finished. “How 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 149 

do you know the boy was really dead? He 
might only have fainted, and if so, you have 
suffered all this time for nothing.^^ 

‘'No. I have not suffered for nothing, Su- 
san, for I do not think I shall ever be angry 
with any one again, as long as I live. I 
know he was dead, because Joe tried to find 
out, and said he was, and it makes me shud- 
der to think that I might have killed him. 
The only thing that keeps me alive now, is 
the thought that I didn’t do that. When I 
dream of it at night, it always makes me wake 
up in a sweat.” Kichard wiped his brow as 
he spoke. 

A moment or two afterward he said, 

“I suppose Katie is learning just at this 
time that Sesostris the conqueror killed him- 
self, and Busiris built Thebes, and Psamtichus 
took the divided states under his protection, 
&c. I wish I was sitting by her side holding 
half the History in my hand.” 

Richard’s words proved the truth of the 


150 HE SECURES A SITUATION. J 

■X 

saying that there will always remain in our Ci 
poor human souls, separated from each other 
by bodies and wildernesses, the longing to be 
at least doing the same thing at the same 
time with one another. 

“ I used to help her over the worst times 
with the History,’^ he continued, “but no- 
body could help her over Mr. Bastachio’s 
explanations. Really they were funny. 

Susan noticed that Richard diffused over 
his face that convulsive smile that resembles 
the quiver of the bait when it announces the 
bite of a fish. She felt that a word more 
concerning his hojne life would bring the tears 
which were much more ready than the smile. 

She knew that the bruised heart of the boy 
at her side, like a vessel of water swung 
round, would run over if it were held still, 
so she said, 

“I do not see what you will do next.^^ 

“I shall set out for Liverpool to-morrow 
morning. 




HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


151 


The crippled girl gave him a startled look, 
but seeing the courage and resolution on his 
face, said in a broken voice. 

Nobody is ever unfortunate, who has 
health and sound limbs. 

Her voice and manner made Richard feel 
the vibration of the tender heart-string he had 
touched. He often forgot her infirmity in ob- 
serving her quick, neat, exact ways, and the 
cheerfulness with which she fulfilled her duties. 
Now, as he saw the wistful look in her eyes, 
he remembered that she might have other sor- 
rows than those at which he had already 
guessed. He had for weeks past had a clear 
view of the gray rainy land of her existence, 
and thinking of it, he said gently, 

You never complain at all.^^ 

It would make father and mother unhap- 
py, she replied, but she did not tell him that 
the prospect of his going away so soon, had 
taught her that there was, alas I in every sor- 
row something new. 


152 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


"^Does your — do you suffer in any way that 
you do not tell of, Susan ? 

“I am never entirely free from pain/^ she 
answered, quietly. 

Richard respected the girRs reticence, and 
^pursued the subject no farther. He thought 
how by her constant care much of the shab- 
biness of the house was hidden, and with a 
sudden impulse he seized her hand and said, 

“If I go away, and make my fortune, and 
come back in some years from now, when 
people have forgotten all about what sent me 
away, I will not forget you, nor your folks. 
There are not many girls that could do as you 
are always doing. Jim Eeling did worse than 
take merits that didn’t belong to him, for he 
prevented me from helping you.” 

While Richard spoke, he showed that not 
even the confidences forced from him by 
weakness and despondency, could tear out an 
ill-will that had insinuated its thousand little 
root-fibres into every corner of his heart. Su- 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


153 


san, who in her plain way had studied human 
nature, knew that one can speak any truth, 
but that one cannot reckon as truth* every 
mode and mood in which he speaks it, so she 
looked at Richard^s contracted brow, and 
asked, 

^'How did he prevent you? What sort of 
boy was he ? ^' 

“He was a boy who hardly ever spoke 
loud, and never pitched into a fellow if he 
could help it, although I must say, when we 
got at it, he did better than I ever thought 
he could, said Richard, showing that a boy 
never portrays his own character more vividly 
than in his manner of portraying another’s. 

Susan seemed to be about to speak, but 
after some hesitation, she changed the subject 
by asking, 

“ How are you going to start for Liver- 
pool.” 

“ My wages have amounted to nine dollars. 
I have been obliged to spend two dollars, and 


154 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


SO I have only seven left. The stage goes by 
here at half past five to-morrow morning. I 
shall ride twenty miles to the station at Kanes- 
ville, and take the cars from there to New 
York. Perhaps I haven’t money enough, but 
I am pretty well used to work now, and I 
think I shall get along.” 

What if you were to be taken sick ? I 
wish I had some money, ever so little, for 
you.” 

“I am jiist as much obliged to you. I 
shall only say good-by to your father and 
mother and the children. I don’t dare to tell 
anybody but you where I’m going.” 

You make me think of a verse I once 
saw somewhere,” said Susan. I remember 
part of it. 

“‘And what am I to you? A steady hand 
To hold, a steadfast heart to trust withal ; 

Merely a friend that loves you, and will stand 


By you, whate’er befall’ ” 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


155 


It was growing so late in the evening, that 
when the two entered the house, the objects 
which by day, were different parts of the fur- 
niture, were only dark corners and whitish 
spots. 

Richard rose the next morning before any 
one was stirring, and waited until Susan 
should come down stairs. The sun had not 
risen, when she appeared, with a milk-pail in 
each hand, walking to the cow-yard. He 
waylaid her, took the pails in his hand, and 
said, 

“ I bade them all good-by last night, Susan, 
and I don’t want to go through with it again ; 
but I couldn’t leave you in that way, for al- 

s 

though you are not a bit like Katie, you 
seem as if you were a relation of mine. 
You’ve been so good to me, that I want to 
carry your milk-pails in for you this morn- 
ing.” 

Susan understood the warm-hearted feeling 
which prompted the offer, and the two walked 


156 


HE SECURES A SITUATION. 


to the cow-yard together. Eichard had never 
assisted at the milking, as it was understood 
he was to remain on the place so short a 
time, but he talked rapidly, while Susan filled 
the pails, in order to drive away the loneli- 
ness which he felt stealing over him. Then 
he carried the milk to the house, and partook 
of some Cold meat and bread, which the far- 
mer's wife sat out for him, and before the 
younger children had arisen, he had swung 
himself as cheerily as he could on the seat 
by the driver of the coach, which drove 
slowly off, leaving Susan Tetlow sitting on a 
stone, and wiping the tears from her eyes. 

A great past is sometimes concluded with a 
little present : in a few moments Susan was 
getting breakfast as usual. 


THE DOVE. 


157 


CHAPTER XI. 

BLACK JACOB GIVES KATE THE DOVE. 

f AZY Joe Tibbets, who had watched our 
hero as he ran from the scene of the fight, 
whistled once, loud and long, and then solilo- 
quized after this fashion, 

“ He^s pretty well frightened. Couldn’t see 
his heels for dust. Wonder what he’ll do ? ’’ 
Then Joe relapsed into silence, and sitting 
down upon a little knoll at some distance from 
James Eeling, watfched the unconscious boy. 

Joe’s face, as he sat there, had the expres- 
sion which is borne by those faces which 
cover dark secrets. Like Pierson, he had that 
in his face which you .could not term unhappi- 
ness ; it rather implied an incapacity for being 
happy. Of the five prizes of hereditary human 


158 THE DOVE. 

love : a father, mother, brother, sister, child, 
Joe Tibbetts had not one. He had always 
wasted the most precious element of life — 
Time. If he had a partiality for any one of 
the boys of Mr. Keeni’s school, it was for 
James Eeling, and if he had a prejudice 
against any one of them, it was against 
Richard Peters. But one could hardly suspect 
Joe even of partiality, for that implies feeling, 
nor of prejudice, because it implies some 
previous acquaintance with the subject, and he 
was almost wholly unacquainted with the 
*^the objects of his preference and aversion. Of 
the peculiar sensibilities that are rightly 
enough imagined to characterize social station, 
he had preserved only those of the lowest in 
which he had ever found himself. When he 
realized in early life that he was poor and 
homeless, instead of exerting himself to better 
his condition by honest industry, he indulged 
in idle and sinful habits, declaring always that 
he was discouraged, and forgetting that no life 


THE DOVE. 


159 


is so mean but that it is a solemn reality, and 
the fruits of it are all that the owner has to 
face eternity with. 

By one of those chances which are newei 
understood, in youth Joe had married a poor 
and gentle girl, who had proved herself a 
much enduring woman. She received her 
vagabond husband without reproach whenever 
he felt inclined to enter the iiumble abode 
which her industry preserved as a home. 

In dealing with such persons as Joe Tibbets 
we need to be reminded constantly of the idea 
that a wise and good man has, that the ugly 
gutter that stagnates over the drain bars, in 
the heart of the foul city, is not altogether 
base ; down in that, if you will look deep 
enough, you may see the dark, serious blue of 
the far off sky, and the passing of pure 
clouds. It is strange at your own will, that 
you see in that dispised stream, either the 
refuse of the street, or the image of the sky. 

After Joe had watched James Eeling for a 


160 


THE DOVE. 


long time, the latter moved his head slightly, 
then sat up and held his hands to his temples. 

Lazy Joe came forward, and said^ Had 
^nough of fightin’, this time, I guess ? ’’ 

‘‘Oh, my head, how it aches I groaned 
James. 

“Better put on your jacket^n go home^n go 
to bed then,^^ said Joe, thrusting his thumbs 
into the armholes of his vest, and walking 
unconcernedly away “across lots.’’ 

Joe’s mind, like his body, moved slowly, as 
he made headway through the berry bushes, 
or under the oaks and chestnuts. There were 
people, who, having had some dealings with 
J oe Tibbets, declared that truth and honor 
exercised upon him, were as useless as passion 
spent upon the dead, but yet I do not think 
he. fully realized the evil he had done in the 
present instance. 

While Joe lounged away to where the foot- 
path was rarely passable for any wagon and 
not always for a horse, but enabling him to go 


THE DOVE. 


161 


in a line almost directly opposite to that taken 
by Kichard, James Eeling looked about, picked 
up his jacket and put it on, and walked off 
with a stiff and sore body, and an aching, 
throbbing head. The long series of grassy 
slopes which descended into the wide valley, 
seemed interminable to his weary limbs. 
When he reached a little brook which he 
would be obliged to ford, to shorten the 
distance home, the dark, "pellucid water, sleep- 
ing between banks of softest moss, reflected a 
flushed and sullen face. White stars of twin 
flowers creeping close to the edge of the 
pathway, were ruthlessly trodden under foot ; 
delicate sprays of trailing berries with their 
emerald tips of drooping leaves, were instantly 
crushed under a careless heel. The infinite 
healing which God drops into our hearts 
through nature’s sights and sounds, is usuaUy 
thrown away upon those who are flagrantly 
disobedient to his laws. 

About an hour, after James reached home. 


162 


THE DOVE. 


the Peters family discovered that Richard was 
absent from the supper table. His mother 
made inquiries. 

Richard hasn^t come home from school yet, 
and Pve been waiting for him this long time/^ 
answered Katy. 

When, however, the other children had all 
gone to bed, and still Richard had not come, 
the older members of the family began to ask 
each other seriously what the absence meant, 
and Mr. Peters went out in search of his 
son. 

In about three quarters of an hour he 
returned without any clue to the mystery. 
The mother’s heart began to sink, but she 
realized that men do not experience the small 
sensations that women do, and she asked, 
hesitatingly, 

“ Did Mr. Keeni say he started for home at 
the usual time ? Do you think there is anything 
— to be anxious about ? ” 

I am rather — puzzled,” returned Mr. Peters. 


THE DOVE. 


163 


** Nobody has seen Richard during several 
hours. 

He sometimes goes in swimming after 
school/' said Mrs. Peters, in a faint voice. 

‘'But he did not to-night, I think," returned 
her husband, and then remained silent. Pres- 
ently he said, . 

“ I hope Richard has done nothing rash." 

“ In reply to this indirect reference to the 
cause of anxiety. Grandfather Wadsworth 
answered, 

“ Richard's temper is a gift from God 
equally with his other qualities. The law of 
nature, which is the law of God, is always 
good. An individual seems to be free at every 
moment of his life to do as he chooses ? But 
what leads him to choose ? Born instincts, 
conditions of health, surroundings, circumstan- 
ces. Moreover he is only a fraction of a great 
unity, the human race, which is held in the 
hollow of the Almighty Hand. We speak of 
a drop of water as if it were an individuality; 


164 


THE DOVE. 


but it cannot swim against the stream to which 
it belongs. My daughter, your son is in God’s 
hands.” 

Mrs. Peters mutely bowed her head in 
assent, while her husband said, 

' ‘Richard’s temper is one of the acknowledged 
terrors about here, and in the event of any 
trouble arising from that cause, very little 
sympathy would be extended to him. I can- 
not remain in the house any longer without 
knowing something about him.” 

“ I will go with you,” said the grandfa- 
ther. 

“Do not leave me alone,” pleaded Mrs. 
Peters. So the old gentleman, after moving 
noisily about for a few moments, composed 
himself sufficiently to sit down. 

The evening wore on. Ten, eleven, twelve 
o’clock struck, and still Grandfather Wads- 
worth attempted to comfort his daughter. 

Towards morning Mr. Peters returned ex- 
hausted, accompanied by most of the neigh- 


THE DOVE. 


165 


boring farmers. No trace of Richard had 
been found. The grandfather ceased his at- 
tempts at consolation, and knelt down to pray 
with his agonized children; the other friends 
remained until there was no possibility of 
showing further kindness, and then returned 
to their own homes. 

An event so unusual created the greatest 
excitement in the quiet community. The next 
day the investigation was renewed, but no 
light was thrown upon the subject until noon- 
time, when Black Jacob appeared, bringing 
the ring dove as a present to Kate. 

The little girPs appearance and demeanor 
showed how completely she was overcome at the 
disappearance of her favorite brother. On or- 
dinary occasions a smile seemed to exhale con- 
stantly from Katie^s face ; if it were not visi- 
ble on her lips, nor, indeed, anywhere, fetill 
you perceived it ; if it were no more to be 
seen than the perfume of a flower, still you 
were conscious of it. It is no figurative exag- 


166 


THE DOVE. 


eration to say that there was within her soul 
an incessant music, like that of all sweet, 
tender, joyous melodies. If you will watch 
her carefully, and if you have the delicate 
senses of sympathy, you will also feel the 
reflection of this inward peace and joy. The 
finest touches which she bestows on her daily 
life, are things which must be watched for, 
because like the most perfect passages of all 
beauty they are the most evanescent. Anybody 
can see the beauty of a material object which 
can give us pleasure in the simple contempla- 
tion of ■ its outward qualities, without any 
definite exertion of the intellect, but it requires, 
as I have said, some sympathy and sense to 
detect the charms of passing expression. She 
had a heart so full of affection that it con- 
stantly overflowed in kind deeds to those 
about her,, and let her fold as she would the 
wings of love which had expanded themselves 
moist out of the chrysalis-case, they yet were 
longer that their covering. In befriending a 


THE DOVE. 167 

certain family of poor children who lived not 
far from her father’s house, it was her indiv- 
idual knowledge of their ailments and their 
tempers, and their gowns and their bonnets, 
and their little brothers and sisters, that made 
them familiar and dear to her. 

Parade of real grief is an impossibility. It 
is to be wrestled with alone, not forced on the 
attention of the public. Hitherto Katie’s most 
serious troubles had been connected with Mr. 
Bastachio’s explanations, and the historical 
wars with Babylon, and Nebuchadnezzar, but 
these annoyances were now too trifling to be 
remembered. 

To this little girl, Jesus Christ was a near 
and dear Friend ; an actual living Being, ever 
present, walking by her side, interested in 
her studies and plays, and by every gentle 
kindly means filling her mind with holy 
thoughts. 

Now in the time of her great trouble she 
had consulted this great and powerful Friend, 


168 


THE DOVE. 


and patiently awaited the answer, for Katie 
had no more doubt when she asked the Lord 
Jesus to send her some tidings of her brother 
Richard, that he would hear and answer her 
prayer, than you or I have that we shall see 
the light of to-morrow. She remembered the 
blessed words, '' And all things, whatsoever 
ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall 
receive. 

When Jacob appeared bringing the ring- 
dove in a large square cage, Katie was put- 
ting the parlor ^‘to rights.’^ This was her 
usual morning task, but on this day she had 
come very near neglecting it altogether. 
While she worked, she gave Jacob an ac- 
count of th6 family misfortune. 

Her visitor listened breathlessly, without 
knowing how to reply. When Katy had fin- 
ished clearing up the parlor, it had not the 
air of naked cleanliness and exasperating 
order which some rooms exhibit when clean. 
Upon the open piano stood a vase of white 


THE DOVE. 


169 


lillies, which filled the air with fragrance ; a 
little of the golden pollen remained where it 
had fallen from one of the snow-white calyxes. 
Jacob stood fumbling his cap and saying 
Tears as though you knew how to do 
almost eberyting, Miss Kate. I spec^ you 
habn^t forgotten de beautiful hymn I heard 
you sing once.^^ 

The little girl saw the expression of long- 
ing in her visitor’s face, and sitting down at 
the piano she began the hymn, 

“ Dear Comforter ! eternal Love ! 

If thou wilt stay with me. 

Of lowly thoughts and simple ways 
I’ll build a house for thee,” 

When she was interrupted by hearing her 
name loudly called from the kitchen. She 
took the dove from its cage, and going out 
followed by Jacob, she met her brothers Ed- 
gar and Herbert, who exclaimed, 


IVO 


THE DOVE. 


<< WeVe heard from Dick. He gave Jim 
Eeling such a whipping yesterday afternoon, 
that Jim is sick abed, and the doctor says he 
doesnft know when he’ll get out again. His 
head is hurt.” 

Every word that was spoken was a crucifix- 
ion to Katie. Her worst fears were verified. 
Richard had fought with James. 

“What’s dat you said? James Eeling 
’libe ? ” asked Jacob suddenly. 

“ Why, yes, Jake,” returned the boys. Of 
course he’s alive. What is the matter with 
you ? ” for Jacob had begun to cut the strang- 
est capers about the room, crying out “ Bress 
de Lord I Bress do Lord I He’s libe 1 He’s 
libe I He’s libe I ” 

The children stared until Jacob said in short 
breathless sentences, 

“It’s all right. Don’t you go for to cry 
any more. Miss Kate. If he’s libe pears like 
I’ll die for joy 1 Where’s your fader ? I mus’ 


THE DOVE. 


in 


see your fader now, I think Mister Rich- 
ard’ll come home presently, bery soon, right 
off/' 

In this ecstatic frame of mind he was ta- 
ken before Mr. Peters and the assembled fam- 
ily. It was somewhat difficult for Jacob, in 
his excited state, to tell a clear story, but the 
facts were at length made known. 

I have heard that a person may enlighten 
another quite accidentally, and without know- 
ing it, as a candle does which somebody car- 
ries. At the conclusion of the examination 
which Jacob underwent, Mr. Peters under- 
stood perfectly the motives which had prompt- 
ed Richard's flight. 

“ I think," said Katy to her brother Edgar, 

that our Heavenly Father must like doves 
better than any 'other birds." 

‘‘ Why ? " 

“ Because he always sends them on such 
pleasant errands. He sent a dove out of the 


112 


THE DOVE, 


ark, and he sent a dove from heaven to alight 
on our Saviour when he was baptized, and 
he sent Jacob with this dove to tell us about 


Richard’s father goes away. 173 


CHAPTER XII. 

Richard’s father goes away. 

Mr. Peters went home with Black Jacob, 
and possessed himself of the address which 
Richard had left: ^ 

Richard Peters, 

Liverpool, 

England, 

and while reading the words realized the 
truth of the saying* that letters accommodate 
themselves more to the place where they are 
born, than to that where they are delivered, 
and it often happens that what went out as 
seed, arrives after its long journey in a 
germinating state, and with roots, and inversely 
in the shape of blossoms rather than of dry 
seed ; and every sheet is a double birth of two 


174 RICHARD^S FATHER GOES AWAY. 

distant times; that of writing and that of 
reading. 

Already, Richard . was beyond reach. Mr. 
Peters visited Mr.'Eeling’s house, but the doc- 
‘tor would not allow any one to be admitted 
to James’ chamber. 

It may be well here to state that the injury 
to James’ head proved to be sufficiently serious 
to prevent him from attending school during 
the remainder of the term. Very often during 
these tedious weeks, he repeated to himself 
that old verse by Etta Maria, 

“ Its loneliness, its weariness. 

Can never be expressed, 

•But those who have nothing to do 
Can describe the feeling best. 

And that’s used for everything. 

And by everybody, too. 

And those who talk of ennui 
Have nothing else to do.” 


Harry Irving made a full confession to Mr. 


RICHARD^S FATHER GOES AWAY. I'iS 

Keeni of the part he had taken in the sorry 
business, and as soon as James Eeling was 
permitted to see visitors, the Master went with 
Harry Irving, to see him. The quiet of the 
sick-room had not been without its beneficial’ 
effects upon James, and he acknowledged that 
he had set seven merit marks down to him- 
self, but had skillfully imitated the master’s 
style of making, so that his deception could 
not be easily discovered. 

Kichard and James being withdrawn from 
the competition, the medal was eventually 
awarded to honest, plodding, George Saunders, 
who, without any expectation of reward, was 
invariably punctual, and faithfully studious — 
reminding one* of the fable in which the slow, 
but persevering animal won the race. 

Mr. Peters had some difficulty in finding 
Joe Tibbets, that worthy having kept himself 
out of sight since Kichard’s disappearance. 

Upon being discovered strolling about the 
woods, he would at first admit nothing, having 


176 RICHARD^S FATHER GOES AWAY. 

for most answers of moment provnied himself 
with an original phrase-hook of nothings, but 
at length he was frightened into confessing 
that Jacob had given a truthful account of the 
cause of Richard^s flight. During the course 
of the next few days he found the neighbor- 
hood so uncomfortable as a place of residence, 
that he was glad to hide himself within the 
walls of the little cottage where his wife lived 
with her aged mother. He calculated correctly 
upon the public sentiment which would respect 
her seclusion. 

Mr. Peters telegraphed to New York to stop 
Richard^s departure for Liverpool, and towards 
night of the day on which Jacob had brought 
the tidings, had commenced making prepara- 
tions for going in pursuit of his absent son. 
While Edgar Peters ran about assisting his 
father, he said with great vehemence, 

I should like to pound Joe Tibbetts black 
and blue.’^ 

You've forgotten that the faults of the 


Richard’s father goes away. 177 

feeble are always first the faults of the 
strong,” trumpeted his grandfather. 

‘'I don’t understand, sir, whether you call 
Joe Tibbets weak or strong.” 

When you have painfully attained the 
height of any ideal, if it be but the correc- 
tion of one of your smaller faults, I hope you 
will never understand how much more painful 
and dangerous is the descent from it,” replied 
his grandfather. 

I don’t know whether Joe ever tried to 
be good for anything in his life, but I’m sure 
he never succeeded,” said Edgar, stoutly.. 

Somebody has called that word ' succeed ’ 
the cancer of society, and it is well named,” 
said the grandfather. “It is hard for a man 
in Joe’s position to live uprightly. Man has 
always a strong desire to feel the echo of 
himself in another, and saddest of all it is to 
live here without echo in the living breast, 
for the effect is to blunt the sensibilities. 
Time has delicate little waves, but the sharp- 


178 BICniRD^S FATHER GOES AWAY. 

est-cornered pebble, after all, becomes smooth 
and blunt therein at last. Joe’s sensibilities 
are blunted, and his conscience seared, by- 
years of neglect and evil doing.” 

‘‘Do you really think he ever had what 
you call sensibilities. Grandpa?” asked Ed- 
gar, looking up from the lock of the carpet-bag 
upon which he was experimenting. 

Grandfather Wadsworth had like a certain 
famous Spaniard, one of those screwed-up and 
helmed souls, which can let another’s contra- 
diction flutter around them without any 
contradiction on their part, without a reflection 
or alteration, and to whom an opponent’s 
discourse is only a still dew, the fall of which 
wears away no stone. He met his grandson’s 
expression of doubt and inquiry by these 
words, 

“ The joys of human beings are at best but 
pleasant walks in a prison yard. What can a 
boy in your condition know of a life which is 
hedged about with hindrances ? What encour- 


RICHARD^S FATHER GOES AWAY. HO 

agement has an individual like Tibbetts to 
keep always in mind one shining idea, that he 
may not be dazzled by the rapid alternation 
of flame and light in the semis of those about 
him ? 

Edgar was the only one of the children who 

ever attempted to argue with his grandfather. 

% 

He narrowly escaped belonging to that imper- 
tinent class who think themselves witty. His 
principal fault was conceit, and on any partic- 
ular exhibition of it. Grandfather Wadsworth 
had the habit of telling him that he reminded 
him of -^sop^s fly sitting on the axle of the 
chariot and exclaiming : What a dust I do 
raise I ” but Edgar^s self-esteem carried him 
unscathed over shoals of sarcasm and reproof. 
Otherwise he was a good lad, affectionate, 
energetic and industrious. 

On the present occasion he worked without 
speaking on the lock of the carpet bag, until 
the key turned easily, and then said in a 
positive tone, 


180 Richard’s father goes away. 

^'But I thought, Grandpa, that you always 
believed that when a person tried to do right, 
-what you call the ' alternations’ helped him. 
Joe Tibbetts had a chance to go to school and 
get as good an education as. many people. 
Didn’t he ? ” 

‘'Education is the formation of habits and 
manners,” said the old gentleman. 

“ Well then, Joe is to blame for forming 
such bad ones. He had as good a chance 
when he was a boy as Abraham Low, I should 
think.” 

“ Tibbetts and Low are as much alike as an 
eggshell is like an egg. Low has accumulated 
some property by dishonest means, while Tib- 
betts remains poor. Men, like bullets, go 
farthest when they are smoothest. Tibbets has 
never gilded his failings with money.” 

Edgar was mystified. He knew tis grand- 
father had a motive in view in seeming to 
defend Joe Tibbetts, yet he did not like to feel 
himself worsted with regard to the declaration 


RICHARD^S FATHER GOES AWAY. 181 

with which he had opened the conversation. 
Moreover he had the excellent habit of never 
despairing, so he renewed the attack by 
saying, 

“ I wonder if Joe would have been good for 
anything under any circumstances ? 

“ 1 have heard that a certain ugly looking 
plant might by cultivation be blanched from 
its dirty drab to purer white, and won to a 
better development of its leaves. But the 
plant in its worst estate is to be found only 
in the last loose stones of the ravine : wet 
with the cold, unkindly drip of the glacier, 
and trembling as the loose and steep dust to 
which it clings, yields, and shudders, and 
crumbles away from about its roots. We do 
not know how far forgiveness and kindness will 
go towards improving a debased nature.’^ 

The tone in which his grandfather spoke 
made Edgar wish that he had not denounced 
Joe so violently, but when he «aw the almost 
completed preparations for his father’s journey, 


182 RICHARD^S FATHER GOES AWAY. 

his mother’s pale face, and heard little Albert’s 
constant inquiry, When will Richard come? ” 
he felt emboldened to say, 

“ I could feel more kindly towards him if 
he hadn’t tried to hurt us. Perhaps Richard 
is hungry somewhere now.” 

“We all judge too bitterly the faults of 
every situation which we do not ourselves 
hold,” said his grandfather. “The doctrine 
that the strong are educated only by a change 
of circumstances, and the weak only by a 
continuance of the same, is sound. I think 
Richard will take care of himself as well as 
most boys.” 

“ Grandpa means to say ^ Forgive, and ye 
shall be forgiven,’ ” said Her})ert, who had 
returned from an errand, and had only en- 
tered the room in season to learn what had 
been the drift of the conversation. 

“ That is a good and wise thought, my 
child,” said Mr. Peters. 


Richard’s father goes away. 183 

I suspect all the wise thoughts come from 
the Gospels/’ said the grandfather. 

On the same evening, Mr. Peters set out. 
At parting with his wife he said, 

“ I shall probably return, or send you sat- 
isfactory tidings, in the course of a few 
days.” 

At the time Mr. Peters pronounced these 
words, his son Kichard was eating supper at 
the old country tavern, where he exchanged 
clothes with Bill, the chore-boy. 


184 


THE arrow/' 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE ARROW." 

J OR several days after the departure of 
their father, the children talked hopefully 
of his immediate return ; hut at the close of 
a week, although they heard from him con- 
stantly, he made no mention of Richard, and 
towards the end of the second week, he re- 
turned from his fruitless search. 

As the days went by, Katy began to droop 
and lose color. Mrs. Peters always spoke of 
Richard's return as a pleasant certainty, but 
her eyes had dark circles about them, such as 
are caused by sleepless nights, and little Al- 
bert began to inquire less frequently, when 
Richard would come home. 

At length it became plain to both the par- 


THE 


ARROW. 


185 




jf 


exits that Katy rnust have a change of scene. 
At home she was too constantly reminded of 
her loss. 

In the city of Lynn, about twelve miles 
from Boston, lived one of Mrs. Peters^ sisters, 
Mrs. Eaton, who had a son, an only child, 
about the age of Edgar Peters. James Ar- 
thur Eaton had invited his cousins to make 
him a visit. Mrs. Peters accepted the invi- 
tation for Edgar and Kate, because being older 
than the other children, they felt Richard’s 
absence most keenly. 

Katy showed but little interest in the prep- 
arations for her visit, until she saw that her 
listlessness was an additional cause of sor- 
row to her mother. Then she made an effort 
to be cheerful. Edgar was delighted at the 
prospect of being his sister’s protector,” 
and listened with a feeling of elation to the 
injunctions of his father and the advice of his 
mother. 

The journey was accomplished with safety, 


H 


186 


THE 


arrow/' 


and Edgar and Kate found their cousin, who 
was a delicate boy with invalid habits, dis- 
posed to do everything in his power to make 
the time pass agreeably. He had a yacht of 
his own, of which he made but little use, but 
which Edgar regarded with longing eyes. 

On the second day after their arrival, James 
Arthur had driven his cousins in his pony- 
carriage through the principal streets of Lynn 
and its suburbs, and on returning home, said. 
How should you like to go out in the 
yacht, to-morrow ? 

Oh 1 of all things that would be the nicest ! 
Wouldn’t it, Kate ? ” cried Edgar. 

The pony-carriage contained two seats. On 
the front seat, sat James Arthur and Edgar, 
and on the back seat were Katie and Lucy 
Nutting, a little girl who lived near Mr. 
Eaton’s house, on Ocean street. 

“Will you go, Lucy?” asked Kate. 

“I’m going to see my cousin Jenny Oliver, 
to-morrow,” said Lucy. 


THE ‘'arrow/' 


181 


“You can go with us just as well, Kate," 
said Edgar. ‘ ‘ Girls are generally afraid in a 
boat, but ni take care of you and — Oh, — Oh, 
— Oh I if there isn't Jacob and Margery 
walking along right ahead of us. Stop a 
minute, James Arthur, I want to speak to that 
black man and woman on the side-walk. 

The greetings on both sides were cordial. 
Jacob had come to Boston to dispose of some 
produce, and Margery, contrary to her usual 
stay-at-home habits, had accompanied him at 
Mrs. Peters' request, to bring home an exact 
account of Katy's appearance, and state of 
health. 

“ If you could only get her to go with us, 
and cook our supper on board," whisppred 

Arthur to Edgar, when he saw Margery's 

# 

kind face. 

“ Yes indeed. She'll do anything 1 ask her 
too," returned Edgar. 

When the proposition was made, Margery 
assented the more willingly, as Jacob would 


188 


THE ^^ARROW/^ 


be likely to leave her alone for several hours 
on the following day. 

Edgar could scarcely sleep that night, so 
eager were his anticipations of the coming 
pleasure. These were somewhat dampened by 
finding in the morning that his cousin was 
suffering from a violent headache, which 
increased every hour. 

When James Arthur saw how keen Edgar’s 
disappointment was likely to be, he persuaded 
his father to engage a pilot, and invite Charlie 
Graham, who happened ta be on a visit to his 
aunt in Swampscott, to take his place on 
board the yacht. 

At home, Charlie was not a great favorite 
with. Edgar, but we all know how differently 

people seem to us away from home, and Edgar 

% 

now hailed the prospect of such companion- 
ship with considerable satisfaction. 

The Yacht was named “The Arrow,” and it 
was agreed to sail round to Phillips’ Beach, 
and take Charlie^Graham aboard. 


THE ARROW.^^ 


189 


Charlie was exceedingly afraid of the water, 
but time hung heavily on his hands, and he 
accepted the invitation as soon as it was 
sent. 

On account of unavoidable delays, it was 
noon before the party were ready to start. By 
that time, James Arthur lay in a darkened 
room, with his head bound about with iced 
cloths. Edgar had promised to superintend all 
the arrangements. 

The pilot, John Dyer, was a man \yho had 
confidence in himself, and with good reason, 
but he objected somewhat to making a start 
so latQ, in the day, but Edgar overruled his 
objections. At length Edgar, and Kate, and 
Margery and the pilot were on board. When 
they reached Phillips^ Beach a small boy came 
down to the beach and said that Charlie would 
be along directly. Then Edgar remembered 
that Charlie was always late, but he curbed 
his impatience as well as he was able, and 
walked up and down the beach, where a knot 


190 


THE *'ARR0W/^ 

of fishermen had collected, and little children 
picked up shells. 

Edgar overheard one of the skippers saying, 
with a nasal drawl, as he looked at the 
“ Arrow, 

‘‘ She^s a poor thing, a bit toy.- She’s not 
for the sea at all, and the quicker they’re 
away home with her at this hour o’ the day, 
they’ll be the wiser.” 

“Set by the side of the great hull o’ your 
trader, she does look a toy,” replied a younger 
man, “ but I’ve stood out pretty rough weather 
with less between me and the water nor 
that.” 

The skipper looked incredulously at the 
tapering mast and slender spars of the 
“ Arrow,” and said, 

“ The waters’ll drown her like a rat, if 
there’s any wind at all. There be few yachts 
of three times her tonnage and twice her beam, 
that ever care to show their sails outside of 
the Rock. My craft is firm in the * water, but 


THE ARROW. 


191 


Pve seen such weather in her as made my 
hair stand on end.’^ 

Edgar looked at ihe skipper’s hair, and saw 
that it was a dull red, and not more than a 
quarter of an inch in length, all over his head. 
He ventured to approach the man and say, 

‘‘ Do you think there’s any danger, sir, in 
going out this afternoon ? ” 

“ In coorse. The momin’s the time for a 
start.” 

“We wanted to go down to Fort Indepen- 
dence.” 

The skipper regarded Edgar in a solemn sort 
of a way that frightened him a little, and then, 
pulling at his stubbed hair, replied, 

“ At this time o’ day you can’t count on 
weather. You’re likely to be driven from the 
Point, up to your neck in the sea. An after- 
noon squall off the Head carried away my 
topmast, broke my mainsail boom, and swept 
the decks clean of boats and rubbish, all at 
one crash.” 


192 


THE “ ARROW. 


Just at that moment Charlie Graham made 
his appearance, and Edgar, impatient, and but 
little pleased at the skippier’s prophecies, 
exclaimed, 

“ It will be night before we start. Come, I 
don’t want to finish the day by drowning 
Kate.’’ 

Charlie, who during his frequent visits to 
Swampscott, had had considerable, experience 
in sailing in smooth water, and owned one or 
two cronies among the younger fishermen, 
replied valiantly, 

“Who thinks of being drowned? Nothing 
suits me half so well as tearing along, with 
the wind blowing half a gale, and the boat’s 
side buried to the cockpit coaming. Do you 
think Kate will be frightened ? ” 

“ Not half so soon as you will be,” replied 
Edgar, whose patience had been quite exhaus- 
ted by waiting, and who knew Charlie to be 
an arrant coward. 

“ I hope when we cross, we shall have to 


THE “ ARROW^^ 


193 


beat up the shores/^ said Charlie, who having 
perfect confidence in the fair weather and the 
skill of the pilot, desired to display his knowl- 
edge of localities thereabouts. 

Finally they were all on board. It was 
a sunny day *, the clouds were high and 
white, and the waters were sparkling and 
flashing. As soon as the wind touched the 
white wings of the little Arrow, she plunged 
out. 

Kate held her hand for . the drops of sea- 
water to fall upon, and Edgar, who had never 
been in a yacht before in his life, said, 

‘‘ Next to diving into the waves yourself, it 
is pleasant to go yachting in fine weather.’^ 
Katie smiled a reply as she looked at Egg 
Rock, which never seemed more beautiful than 
that day. The sides were tinted with deep 
ocean dyes, and the slopes above were mellow 
in the light. The shores of Lynn were clear, 
not a vapor lingering on the highest land. 
Katie, who had only seen High Rock once 


194 


THE ‘'arrow. 


before, and at that time during a storm, could 
hardly believe it to be the same, without the 
thunder cloud, the shadows of the cirrus, and 
the white flashes of lightning through the black 
smoke of rain on its side. The ashen-gray 
heights of the Rock above the Hutchinson 
Cottage were turned to solid amber, and the 
headlands of Nahant cast summer shades, in the 
sparkling sea. The company were in high 
spirits, and Edgar, who generally began by 
being over-cautious, and ended by being over- 
impatient, said to Charlie, 

“Suppose we take a little sail for about an 
hour, and then go home ? I can^t help thinking 
of what the skipper said.^^ 

There was no danger, and Charlie was like 
a lion. 

“Are you afraid to be on the ocean he 
asked. 

Edgar knew that his companion referred 
indirectly to his never having been on the salt 


THE ARROW/^ 


195 


water before, and scorning to be outdone by 
anybody, he replied, 

Of course not. I was thinking Kate might 
not like too long a sail at first. 

The Arrow flew swiftly along, the breeze 
heading it less and less. The scenery presen- 
ted to the little company pictures of perfect 
loveliness, which faded as they passed, like 
fairy palaces in the air. Occasionally they saw 
real red-sailed fishing-boats, just as Turner 
would have placed them on the canvas. 

The pilot was a middle aged man. He had 
been all his life accustomed to the water, and 
was steady and cool in times of peril. He 
could sing a good song and tell a good story, 
and what was a little extraordinary for either 
of these accomplishments, knew how to take 
good care of a ship. As a child he had sported 
on the shores of the great ocean upon which he 
had spent his manhood. Like northern rocks on 
which are found the impress of Indian flowers, 
in the rough pilot’s heart lay fossil flowers of 


196 


THE “ ARROW. 


the fairer period of early life. Born in Swamp- 
scott and bred to the sea, he well knew its 
uncertainties and dangers. As he looked at the 
young people under his charge, he felt that 
much which still interested them, had long ago 
had its epoch with him. After listening awhile 
to their conversation and laughter, he said, 
with a look at the sky, 

'' Pr’aps ye won^t care for a long cruise to- 
day ? ^ . 

“ We’ll go down to the Fort, if you please,” 
returned Edgar, with a grand air. “ Katy, 
it’s growing cool, you’d better wrap up in 
your shawls.” 

The pilot looked at the boyish figure in 
silence. He had been hired in the morning to 
go to Fort Independence, and to the Fort he 
would go without another remonstrance. He 
turned his eye anxiously in the direction in 
which they were bound. As the day ad- 
vanced, the vapors shifted on the coast, and 
the shape of the land changed, and Katy put 


THE ''arrow.’’ 197 

on all her wrappings, and became a little 
more silent, but did not complain of being 
cold. 

"Seems to me, the nearer we come to the 
Fort, the further it is away,” exclaimed Edgar. 

" I like sailing by moonlight,” said Charley 
Graham, buttoning his coat closely about him. 

The pilot, who was fond of talk on some 
occasions, was, at a critical moment, like the 
Sphinx — only rather more active. He sat at 
the helm, with his eye on the waves, and 
replied to Charley’s remark in these words, 

" I hope ye’ll have what ye like to-night.” 

"Don’t you think it will be pleasant?” 
asked Edgar, observing something unusual in 
the pilot’s tone. 

"No, sir,” was the grim reply. 

" Thoii we’ll spend the nighT; at the Fort, if 
they’ll let us stay,” returned Edgar, cheer- 
fully. 

"Ye see it’s all quiet open water here, 
without the . chance of any kind of harbor, 


198 


THE ^ ‘arrow. 

and this craft, even with a fair wind, canft be 
expected to run more than six miles an hour 
in a sea,’^ explained the pilot. 

“Yes, sir,’^ said Edgar, not liking to ac- 
knowledge that he had not understood a word 
of the explanation. 

“ This boat wants body,’^ the pilot contin- 
ued, “and if a storm does catch us riding 
out here, the vessel bein’ too small to lie to, 
and.runnin’ before the wind, will drownd her- 
self in no time.” 

While he spoke, he extemporized a kind of 
wooden scuttle for the cockpit, which might 
be of some service in a sea. 

“I wonder if Margery isn’t lonesome, down 
there all by herself,” inquired Kate. 

“ I’ll go and see,” replied Edgar, and in a 
few moments hh returned with a dismayed 
countenance. 

“ She’s dreadfully seasick I ” he exclaimed. 

“ I’ll go and take care of her,” said Katy. 
But when she rose, she was so dizzy, that 


THE '^ARROW.’^ 


199 


Blie staggered as she walked, and when she 
reached Margery, she could do nothing but 
lie down by her side. 

By this time it was growing quite dark. 

^‘It promises to be a good night, sir, but 
don’t you think it will be unpleasant sailing 
so late without any moon ? ” inquired Charley 
Graham. 

Yes, most likely ’twould be to the present 
company,” returned the, pilot. “ ’Tisn’t too 
late to turn about now, if ye’re all of a 
mind.” 

Edgar was indifferent as to what course 
they should pursue. Charley was more than 
willing to return, and the pilot embraced the 
first opportunity since starting, of acting upon 
his own judgment. 

With the Fort in sight, they faced towards 
home, but the worst of the situation was that 
the wind was beginning to fail, and they were 
making very little way through the rough roll 
of the sea. The pilot steadily helped the little 


230 THE ''arrow/^ 

craft through the tempestuous water, bringing 
her bow up to the billows, and burying it in 
them whenever they would have drowned her 
broadside. He sharply watched the water to 
windward, with the mainsail sheet in his hand, 
and looking at him, Edgar felt a , certain ad- 
miration for him, which he partially expressed 
by saying, 

“ It seems to be easy work for you, sir.^’ 

“ Been shaking crafts of different sizes 
through the squalls of this coast this many a 
year,^^ returned the pilot. 

In the deepening twilight the land about 
Fort Independence, and the Fort itself, slowly 
mingled with the clouds, and Edgar, sitting, 
and waiting, said in a tone of regret, 

“ I never saw the Fort, and now we must 
leave it when it’s just in sight. I’m glad 
Kate has gone below, out of this raw air. 
It’s as much as we men can stand, sir.” 

“ Aye, aye,” returned the pilot, without a 
sign of a smile. 


THE “ARROW/^ 


201 


Charlie Graham was nowhere when it began 
to blow. He had been subject to palpitation 
of the heart, and it always troubled him most 
when he was most wanted ; making him very 
pale, feeble, and fluttering. 

Edgar Peters was no coward, and could 
work in an emergency, but his nautical knowl- 
edge was very slight, just enabling him to 
distinguish one rope from another if he were 
not particularly hurried in his movements. 
Margery and Kate could be of no use oh deck 
in bad weather, though, as John Dyer ex- 
pressed it, they showed a manly spirit through- 
out the cruise. 

The pilot being the only sailor on board, 
and having only one pair of hands, and not 
being able to be everywhere at the same time, 
evidently considered his task fully equal to his 
abilities. 

Charley began to shiver, and see every sort 
of nameless horror to windward. Twenty 
times at least he asked the pilot what sort 


202 


THE “ARROW/^ 

of a night it promised to be, and began to 
throw out hints to the effect that he should 
have been safe and comfortable in bed, if it 
hadn’t been for Edgar Peters. At last he said 
plainly. 

If we’re all drowned, it’ll be your fault, 
Edgar. You ought to have started in the 
morning, as the skipper said.” 

“How could I know last night that James 
Arthur would be sick this morning, and every- 
thing be delayed ? ” replied Edgar, controlling 
his desire to tell Charley that they had been 
an hour later on his account; 

“ I wish I hadn’t come,” growled Charlie. 
“ Nobody but a crazy person would think of 
sailing in the night.” 

Edgar had decided that a reply would be 
useless, when the pilot, who had learned the 
habit of sailing at night, and loved it, said 
shortly, , 

“Ye were all for sailing by moonlight an 
hour ago, my lad ? ” 


THE “ ARROW/^ 


203 


After this there was silence for a few 
moments. John Dyer sat at the helm owl-like, 
wakeful and vigilant, with his weather-beaten 
face looming through ' his matted ringlets, his 
black pipe set between his teeth, and his eyes 
looking keenly to windward. 

As Edgar looked at him sitting there in the 
silent night, the stars glittering in the heavens 
above, and the darkening waters beneath glim- 
mering back the light, he wondered what the 
man could be thinking of. If memories of wild 
nights at fishing, of rain, snow, and wind 
drifted across his brain? 

Before the night was over, Edgar learned 
that he was a man who saw more than he 
knew. Through the lonely hours he threw a 
new and pleasant light upon old thoughts, and 
used a fine phrase as naturally as nature fash- 
ions a leaf ; or as he himself used an 
oar. His language was at once remarkable for 
its obscurity, and for a strange felicity of ver- 
bal touch. 


204 


THE “ ARROW. 

'‘Pilot/^ said Charlie, we are getting closer 
and closer to the land, and we shall be 
drowned. 

“ I’d a heap sooner sail a craft like this by 
night than by day,” the pilot answered, ''for the 
weather is more settled between gloaming and 
sunrise ; and you have one great advantage ; 
the light is aye gaining on ye, instead of the 
darkness.” 

"Isn’t the coast , dangerous here?” persisted 
Charlie. 

"Aye. The coast is sown with rocks as 
thick as if they had been shaken out of a 
pepper-box I ” 

" There’s danger everywhere, and we can’t 
see the land,” wailed Charley. 

If we cannot see it, we must just smell 
it,” said the pilot, shrugging his shoulders. 

After the summer night had quite closed in, 
and the Fort had long since faded out of sight 
behind, the little company began to make out 


THE “ ARROW.^^ 


205 


the form of land ahead. The wind was rising 
again. 

It^s blowing on our quarter/^ said the 
pilot, “ and the best plan is to creep to within 
a couple of miles of the land, and hang about 
until we have daylight enough to make out 
where we are.’^ 

Edgar crept close to the steersman, and 
said. 

Can I do anything to help, sir ? I don^t 
know much about- a yacht, but I can keep 
awake all night and help you watch. 

‘‘ Aye, aye. YeVe good pluck, my lad. 
There’s the makiii’ of a man in ye,” returned 
the. pilot. 

As they sat together, the deep, dreary mur- 
mur of the sea gathered powerfully on Edgar’s 
imagination. He wondered if Richard were on 
thg water, or on the land, and why God 
permitted grief to befall such good people 
as his father and mother. 


206 


THE “ ARROW. 

Suddenly the pilot broke the silence by 
pying, 

“Life on the oceaU; my lad, teaches me 
day and night that the ways of God are past 
finding out.^^ 

Edgar wondered at the ready answer to his 
thoughts, and the pilot puffed his pipe, and 
looked quietly at the sky. The darkness, the 
hushed breathing of the sea, and the sough of 
the wind through the rigging, made Edgar 
long for the sound of a human voice. 

“ Don’t you know a story you could tell us, 
pilot. It would be easier keeping awake.” 

“Is’t a bit lonely? Shall I spin a true 
yarn ? And shall it be o’ the land or the 
sea ? ” 

“ Oh, a true story by all means, and seeing 
we’re likely to have enough of the sea 
to-night, tell us a land story. Don’t you say 
so, Charlie.” 

Charlie Graham, thus appealed to, growled, 


THE ARROW/^ 


207 


‘‘I don^t see how anybody who 
to be drowned in an hour or two 
about listening to stories. 


is likely 
can care 


208 


THE PlLOT^S STORY, 


CHAPTER XIY. 

THE pilot’s story. 

’R’APS you’d like to hear how I once 
shot an elephant ? ” said the steersman, 
still with his eye to the windward, literally 
looking out for squalls while he spun his yarn. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Edgar. 

“ Well, once upon a time I happened to be 
in Upper India, (I’ve been round the world 
pretty well, in my time) and I thought I’d like 
to see some of the elephant-shooting I’d heard 
so much about. Hal Hawser, one of my mates, 
told me where the region of the jungles was, 
and one of the men brought in word that a 
large tiger had been destroying the cattle in 
the neighborhood of the jungle. 

“ Hal hunted up two sporting elephants. One 



THE pilot’s story. 209 

was a staunch old animal, and could be trusted 
fpr steadiness, while the other wasn’t much 
more to be relied on than this ere craft at 
this minute.” 

^‘Ohl Do you think we shall go down?” 
cried out Charlie, nervously. 

The pilot scanned the sky, which was becom- 
ing smoked over with thick mist, but did not 
otherwise reply to Charlie’s interruption. 
Though the yacht was only a few miles off the 
coast, the loom of the land was scarcely visi- 
ble ; the vapors seemed rising and gradually 
wrapping everything in their folds. 

“We drew lots,” continued the pilot, “ and 
it fell to me to have the le'ss steady of the two 
animals. We started an hour before dawn, 
and as I wasn’t much used to steering that 
sort o’ craft, I was willin’ to take the word 
o’ the others when they said they saw the 
tiger’s marks in the patches o’ damp sand. 

“ Hal being on the best elephant, placed him- 
self where he thought the tiger would be sure 


210 


THE pilot’s story. 


to pass, but I was about a mile nearer the 
jungle, hidden by a small clump of tree§. 
Waitin’ in the dark, with nobody but two 
sleepy natives to talk to, was about as dreary 
business for me, as yachting o’ nights is to 
the lad yonder. I grew very sleepy while 
waiting, and so did the two natives who 
guided the elephant, and looked after the guns 
a«Qd ammunition. 

“ ’Tisn’t the same in that part of the world as 
’tis here. When the day has .broken there, 
the broad light bursts forth all of a sudden, 
so’t I wasn’t surprised after waitin’ about an 
hour, to have the native who’d been sittin’ 
behind me, touch my arm, and point to the 
east. There was a faint glimmer o’ light, and 
it began to get wider and redder every minute. 
Just then I was taken with one of the shivers 
I caught in that climate, when I heard a 
double shot. ' It sounded very loud . in the dead 
stillness o’ the mornin’. 

“ I knew that Hal had fired, and after 


THE PILOTS STORY. -211 

waitin^ about five minutes, I saw the tiger 
comin^ from the ravine. I aimed at the animal 
and missed him. He turned with a roar, to 
find out where the shot had come from, and 
as the damp o’ the mornin’ had prevented the 
smoke o’ my rifle from risin’, he at once bore 
down on me with all sail set. Just as he was 
nearing us, I fired a shot which I meant should 
finish him, for I was sure that he’d been hit 
in the spine, and could only drag his back 
legs 

‘^All on a sudden, the elephant we were 
riding turned about, and ran away from the 
tiger with us on his back. He never stopped 
till he’d put a mile atween us’n that brute. 
Afterwards when we got him back again, one 
of the natives got down and traced the tiger 
through the brushwood to the place where he 
had died, under a tree. As soon as I heard that 
I got down too> and followed the native who 
had stripped off all his clothes except a waist- 
band. All on a sudden he threw himself on 


212 


THE PILOT^S STORY. 


the ground, and found out by listening with 
his ear to the earth that a herd of elephants 
were cornin’ slowly. We both went up into a 
tree, an’ I saw a large herd about forty yards 
in front of me ; one elephant, light-C(5lored 
about the head, stood within a dozen yards 
o’ me. 

I’d heard that the only place . to kill an 
elephant was just above where the trunk joins 
the head, and the eye. I took aim and that 
beast came down with a crash that shook the 
earth we stood on. Then we both gok up into 
a tree before the whole herd came up. It’s 
wonderful how near like human beings them 
animals be for reasoning. The native explained 
to me that the reason we managed to get near 
them und kill one of their number was because 
the wind was blowing from them towards us I 
As soon as they missed their comrade they 
would take a good offing, and then beat up 
the wind and find us out, and scent the dead 
body. They’re so heavy that a herd will shake 


THE PILOT^S STORY. 


213 


the ground they travel over; The creepers in 
those jungles are like a ship’s cable for 
strength, and twisted together every way. I 
had enough to do to follow in the wake of 
the native, while he towed me safely into port. 
Some hours later we got the tiger skin, and 
the tusks of the elephant, which I sold for 
a round sum. The tiger skin’s been in my 
hammock ever since.” 

“If we have wind before morning, it’ll be 
off the shore, but the high ‘ land will protect 
us some’at,” said the pilot, in a matter-of-fact 
tonCj quite different from the one in which he 
had spun his yarn. 

“ The hills bring squalls. I’ve heard the 
skippers say so many times,” groaned Char- 
ley Graham. 

“ The land is not that high that ye need to 
be scared,” said the pilot “but we may as 
well make things ready in case o’ need;” 

The mainsail was reefed, and the second jib 
substituted for the large one ; after a glance 


214 


THE PILOT^S STORY. 


at the compass, the steersman -sat quiet at the 
helm. 

“ I hope if we live to get on shore, we 
shall have something nice and hot to eat,’' 
droned Charlie Graham, whose life had hith- 
erto been remarkable for nothing except a 
dynasty of good breakfasts, dinners, and sup- 
pers, which had in succession wielded the 
sceptre of his affections. 

Stupid persons make one feel more stupid 
than one really is. Edgar, who had been in- 
terested in the pilot’s story, and excited by 
the threatening danger, wondered how Charley 
could think of food. A moment afterward he 
decided that something nice and hot to eat 
•would not be altogether unacceptable to him- 
self. 

From this thought he was aroused by hear- 
ing the pilot say, 

“There’s a kind of water -world down 
there,” pointing under the boat, “ and don’ ye 
thick if the sea and lakes were drained dry. 


THE pilot’s story. 


215 


there would be all manner o’ strange animals 
that no man knows the name o’ ? For the 
drowned can no’ see, and if they could see 
they could no’ speak. Ay I now the wind’s 
rising, and I can smell land.” 

Edgar never knew how John Dyer managed 
to- smell the land, and he had no^ time to 
inquire, for the Arrow was bowling along un- 
der three-reefed mainsail and storm-jib, and 
was getting about as much as she could bear. 
With the rail under to the cockpit, the water 
lapping heavily against the coaming, and oc- 
casionally splashing -over the cockpit itself, she 
made her way fast through the rising sea. 
All at once the foggy vapors had steeped 
everything in darkness. The pilot was obliged 
to guess from the \^nd where the land lay, 
but could not tell how near. The whistling 
wind, the darkness, and the surging sea be- 
wildered him. It was past midnight, and he 
could do nothing but beat about till sunrise. 

He sat at the helm, stern and imperturbable. 


216 


THE PILOT^S STORY. 


He knew that they were in danger from the 
neighborhood of rocks, but he expressed nc 
anxiety. ' Sometimes he slipped his hand 
down to the deck to leeward, feeling how 
near the water was to the cockpit, and he 
soon decided that it would be wise to close 
over the cockpit hatches. He seemed to smell 
the wind as well as the land, for when a 
squall struck her, the Arrow was standing up 
to it, tight and firm, when ever so . slight a 
falling off might have foundered them all in 
the open sea. 

Charley Graham was too weak even to 
whine out his prophecies of doom, but lay in 
his forecastle hammock, with his eyes closed 
despairingly. Margery and Kate were lying 
in the cabin, so sea-sick as to be indifferent 
whether they fioated on, or went to the bot- 
tom. Edgar, drenched through, clung close 
beside the pilot, and strained his eyes against 
wind and salt spray into the darkness. He 
appeared to feel neither uncomfortable nor 


THE pilot’s story. 217 

frightened. He was not the sort of boy to 
be overpowered by half-seen perils. He in- 
formed the pilot confidentially that he had 
by no means made up his mind to be drowned. 

As they sat there in the darkness, I think 
they must all have had pretty much the same 
train of thought, for the pilot rolled out with 
a deep kind of sea-music, the wondrous verses 
of the Psalms : 

“ They that go down to the sea in ships, 
that do business in great waters. They see 
the works of the Lord, and his wonders in 
the deep. For He commandeth, and raiseth 
the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves 
thereof. They mount up to heaven, they go 
down again to the depths ; their soul is melt- 
ed because of trouble. They reel to and fro, 
and stagger like a drunken man, and are at 
their wits’ end. Then they cry unto the Lord 
in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of 
their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, 
so that the waves thereof are still. Then are 


218 


THE pilot’s story. 


they giad because they be quiet, so he bring- 
eth them into their destined haven. 0 that 
men would praise the Lord for his goodness, 
and for his wonderful works to the children 
of men.” 

The triumf)hant tone in which the chant 
ended, reassured even Charlie, for he lifted 
his head for a few seconds, and watched the 
glitter of the crests of the waves playing close 
to him, and the phosphorescent glimmer of the 
beaten water behind the rudder. The wind 
was pretty steady, and the squalls were not 
too frequent ; the Arrow was burying her 
bow-sprit in every wave, and so low was the 
rail, and so close to the sea, even on the 
weather side, that to those on board it was 
like being dragged through the water bodily, 
with the chilly waves lapping round the waist. 

A sharp glimmer of light .shot suddenly out 
of the darkness ; then there was a loud sound 
like the creaking of cordage, and noise of 
sails, and in almost the same instant a large 


THE PILOT STORY. 


219 


brig dashed across the bows of the yacht, 
driving at tremendous speed in the mist, and 
churning the sea to sparkling foam. John 
Dyer brought the head of the Arrow up to 
the wind, so that she almost brushed the 
strange vessePs quarter The brig dashed on, 
and was swallowed up in darkness, and then 
the pilot drew his cuff across -his mouth, an(^| 
I think they must all have thanked God for 
their narrow escape from death. 

“ We^ll rig out the mast-head lantern in 
case of accidents, said the pilot, and after 
that was done, they felt more secure ; in fact, 
Edgar, who intended to do his duty manfully, 
became overpowered by sleep, and while the 
wind sang, the water sobbed, and the sail 
moaned, sank oft into a doze, from which he 
was startled by hearing the pilot say, quietly, 
“ I see the loom o^ the land.^^ 

Edgar shivered in the cold damp air of the 
dawn, and dashing the wet hair out of his 
eyes, stared all round him, and saw that it 


220 


THE pilot’s story. 


was nearly daybreak, and that the land lay 
black in a dark mist about two miles to the 
westward. A dim silvery glimmer was on the 
sea, and Charley Graham was poking his head 
through the cabin hatch and gazing shore- 
ward. 

“ Yonder, where ye see' a shimmer like the 
gleam of herring scales, looks like a place 
I’ve seen before,” said the pilot. Then .-he 
told Edgar that about half a mile from shore 
there was a dangerous rock and on it a red 
buoy, which he was looking for in the dim 
light. While the day slowly broke, a thin 
cold mist began to creep down the sea, and 
though the wind was still sharp and strong, 
and the sea high, they knew that the worst 
of their perils were over. After the dawn had 
fully broken, the land was distorted in danger- 
ous vapors, and all was confusion. No sun 
came out — only the dull glimmer through the 
mist betokened that it was day. 

With something like a shout, Charley Gra- 


THE PILOT^S STORY. 


221 


ham discovered a red spot in a circle of white 
foam, about a quarter of a mile distant. It 
proved to be the buoy. Although the passage 
up to the anchorage was by no means a safe 
one, the pilot knew every stone and shallow 
perfectly. 

When they cast anchor, the mist had 
changed into a heavy rain, and all the scene 
around -was black and wild ; but after their 
narrow escape, the little company felt happy 
whatever the weather might be. The fire was 
lighted in the forecastle, and the kettle began 
to sing, and after they had somewhat dried 
their clothes, Margery and Kate, recovered, 
and got them up a capital breakfast. Edgar 
aroused himself from his second doze to do 
justice to the meal, and Charlie Graham, whose 
gamut slid easily from tragedy to comedy, de- 
clared while eating that he liked sailing by 
night. 

Although Katie Peters had been very sea- 
sick, and had slept but little, she made the 


222 


THE PILOT^S STORY. 


coffee with her own hands, and assisted 
about getting the breakfast. She had not 
uttered one complaint since starting from 
Swampscott on the previous afternoon, and 
as Charlie watched her flitting about with 
a pleasant word and smile for everyone, . 
although her face was a shade paler than 
usual, he proved the truth of the saying that 
a boy is' never altogether a clothes-horse : 
under the clothes there' is always a body and 
soul, for he uttered these words very delib- 
erately : 

‘‘ I wish, Edgar, that all the girls in the 
world were exactly like your sister Kate. 
She’s got as good grit as a boy, and what 
coffee she can make 1 ” 

“Katie, who sat near the fire with a cup of 
coffee in one hand and a hot biscuit in the 
other, had been looking into the flames, and 
conjuring up the pleasant scene of her brother 
Eichard’s return. How her grandfather would 
tip everything over with his cane, and how 


THE PILOT^S STORY. 


223 


her mother would look at him with eyes full 
of love. 

Is there one of us who cannot remember 
having seen prettier pictures in a flame-colored 
setting than any gallery han shown ? What 
earthly painter could emulate - or imitate the 
coquettish caprice of light and shadow, that 
enhances the charms, and dissembles all possi- 
ble defects in these fair fleeting Flamminas? 

Charlie^s remark caused a general laugh. 
Margery was so much pleased with any praise 
bestowed upon her ^ ‘honey-child,^^ as she 
called Katie, that she heaped Charlie^s plate 
for the third time with crisp brown potatoes. 

“ Grandpa says people like in other folks 
what they don^t have in themselves,’^ said 
Edgar, whose afiection for Charlie had not been 
increased by the night’s experience. 

Some people thing it is more diflScult to 
make a thing intelligible to a dunce than to a 
madman. Charlie answered, with his mouth 
crammed full with potatoes, 


224 


THE PILOT S STORY. 


“ Of course boys a’n^t expected to make 
coffee. 

Katie seems to be doing the Cleopatra; 
minus the Nile,^^ said Edgar mischievously. 

The pilot, who, under God, had saved their 
lives, said nothing, but lit his black pipe, as 
he rested his head against the side of the 
forecastle, and in an instant dropped off into 
a sound sleep, worn out with fatigue, gripping 
the pipe firmly between his teeth while he 
slept. 

When they reached Mr. Eaton’s house later 
in the morning, they found the family noways 
concerned about their safety, for James' Arthur 
had often spent the night upon the water, 
under the care of the skillful pilot John 
Dyer. 

With the exception of bad colds, none of 
the company experienced any injury from their 
night’s exposure.- 


THE PASSENGERS OF THE COACH. 


225 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE PASSENGERS OF THE COACH. 

^4 FTER Richard had sat for a few moments 
on the top of the coach, the stage driver, 
according to the friendly fashion. of his kind, 
entered into conversation with the boy stranger 
at his side. 

Quiet sort o’ place you just come from ? ” 
nodding backward, and indicating with his 
whip the lonely little farm-house. 

“Yes, sir. I’ve only lived there for the last 
eighteen days. I helped them through haying,” 
replied Richard. Then seeing a newspaper 
sticking out of the driver’s coat pocket, he 
added, 

“ I haven’t seen a newspaper once in all 


226 


THE PASSENGERS OP THE COACH. 


that time. They don’t take any paper there. 
Mr. Tetlow doesn’t seem to care at all what 
goes on in the world. Would you be so kind 
sir, as to allow me to look at yours ? ” 

“Sartenly ; ’n you can keep it if you want,” 
returned the man. 

While Richard read the newspaper as rapidly 
as the rough road would allow, the driver 
scanned him with the eye of a person accus- 
tomed to human nature, and at the first 
opportunity, remarked, 

'‘You ha’n’t been used, to heavy 'work 
alwuz, I take it.” 

A vague feeling of uneasiness took possession 
of Richard as he met the scrutinizing glance 
which accompanied the question, but before he 
had time to reply, a head was thrust out of 
the window, and a voice exclaimed, 

“Hold up, driver, lady sick inside.” 

“ Alwuz is,” was the driver’s ready response 
as he checked his horses. Then turning to 
Richard he said, “ You’ll have to exchange 


THE PASSENGERS OF THE COACH. 


221 


places with her. I ^most alwuz have one on 
the seat with me.^^ 

Kichard descended, and when the coach 
door was opened, a middle-aged lady, very 
pale, got out, and in a few moments had 
taken the seat by the driver. 

Always makes some folks sick to ride 
inside, said a fat man, one of the passengers, 
as Richard took the vacant inside seat. 

The coach contained its complement; ''nine 
inside ; two girls going to work in a factory, 
two farmers with their wives, the fat man and 
a sickly looking girl, his neice, and our 
hero. 

Four of the passengers soon dropped asleep, 
but the two girls discussed their affairs in one 
corner, and the fat man exchanged an occas- 
ional remark with Richard. 

For a few miles the coach made as good 
progress as the state of the road would allow, 
when a sudden lurch, followed by another and 
heavier, tipped the vehicle quite over, and for 


228 ' THE PASSENGERS OF THE COACH. 

a few moments nothing was heard but shrieks 
and smo.thered groans. 

Richard, being nearest the coach door, was 
soon able to extricate himself from the other 
passengers. He crawled through the upper 
part of the door, where the glass was broken, 
and after being on the outside long enough to 
convince himself that he was uninjured, he set 
about rendering what assistance he could to 
those inside. 

The two farmers had already emerged, bare- 
headed and somewhat bruised, and the head of 
the fat man, with one hand still grasping a 
red silk pocket-handkerchief which he had 
carried throughout his journey, appeared at 
the opening. 

Richard and the farmers extended helping 
hands, but the portly body could not be 
squeezed through so small an aperture, and. a 
little delay was necessary to open the door. 
Meanwhile the confusion inside seemed if 
possible to increase every moment. 


THE PASSENGERS OF THE COACH. 


229 


As soon as the fat man found himself upon 
his feet, he rubbed his face all over vigorously 
with the red silk handkerchief, seized a hand 
of each of his rescuers in turn, and giving 
them a hearty shake, said in a loud, cheerful 
voice, 

'' My name’s Blake, at your service ’n thank 
ye kindly for helping me. Now we’d better 
look after Mary Ann, for she’s down under- 
neath, and must ha’ had a pretty hard 
chance.” 

While Mr. Blake had been speaking, the 
farmers’ wives, who . had slept during the 
greater part of the drive, had climbed out, now 
thoroughly wide awake. The two factory girls 
followed, but ** Mary Ann,” the object of Mr. 
Blake’s solicitude, still remained where she 
had been thrown, making no attempt to rise, 
but occasionally moaning. 

Mr. Blake’s rubicund visage elongated as he 
heard the sound ; he rubbed his face harder 
than ever as he ejaculated, 


230 • THE PASSENGERS OF THE COACH. 

‘‘Hope the gaPs bones a’n’t broken. She 
always, been master unfortenitP^ 

While Mr. Blake peered down anxiously at 
the moaning girl, one of the farmers entered 
the coach, and lifted Mary Ann in his arms, 
and carried her to a little knoll, and after an 
examination, discovered that her arm was bro- 
ken in two places between the elbow and the 
shoulder. 

The driver, who had saved himself by jump- 
ing from his seat at the right moment, and 
keeping a tight hold upon the reins, and the 
lady by his side who had escaped injury by 
clinging to the vehicle, now came up. 

“ I think I can set that ^ere,’^ said the dri- 
ver, who had had a varied experience in dif- 
ferent parts of the world. 

So saying, he quickly and skillfully set the 
broken limb, to the great admiration of the 
lookers-on. 

When Richard saw the relief that a slight 
knowledge of surgery can give, in cases of 


THE PASSENGERS OF THE COACH. 


231 


sudden emergency, he resolved to learn how 
to set a limb, and took his first lesson whit- 
tling out splints with his jack-knife, under the 
driver^s direction. 

The women tore up their handkerchiefs for 
bandages, and the broken arm was before long 
well taken care of. 

The men then placed the coach in an up- 
right position, but it was found to be too 
much weakened to be used for continuing the 
journey. The splintered shaft was tied tOf 
gether, the broken door laid inside upon one 
of the seats, and the passengers were forced 
to decide upon walking the remaining three 
miles to the station. 

The rough road was in places badly gullied 
by the small torrents from the hills, and the 
invalid lady decided to stop at the nearest 
house until a carriage could be sent for her. 

Mr. Blake ceased rubbing his face, cleared 
his throat once or twice, and exclaimed, 

I wonder where our luncheon basket is, 


232 


THE PASSENGERS OP THE COACH. 


Mary Ann ? I hung it up inside the coach 
when we started. 

The basket and its contents being hung so 
as to swing easily in almost any direction, 
were found undisturbed, the cover tied firmly 
on with a stout piece of twine. 

We’d all better have a bite together, and 
then go ahead,” said Mr. Blake, seating him- 
self on the grass beside his neice, and looking 
round at the company with so cordial an air 
that they seemed with one consent to accept 
his frank offer, and followed his example, sit- 
ting under the shade of a couple of trees. 

It is said that young people before and dur- 
ing a journey, carry no stomach under their 
wings, just as that of the butterfly shrinks, up 
when his wings are spread. Richard sat upon 
the grass with the others, but did not feel at 
all hungry. The basket contained luncheon 
enough for the whole company, and as the 
accident had already prevented the passengers 
from reaching the station in season to take 


THE PASSENGERS OF THE COACH. 


233 


the morning train, they made the best of the 
circumstances in which they found themselves, 
only the driver taking a sandwich in his hand 
continued on his route, walking by the side 
of his horses. 

“ I always tell Mis’ Blake to put in lunch- 
eon enough,” said Mr. Blake, pushing back 
his battered hat from his brow, and bringing 
his red handkerchief with a flourish round un- 
der the hat of one of the girls sitting near 
him, and hitting her in the eye. 

I beg your pardon. Miss, I’m sure,” he 
ejaculated. ^'My Sabiny, she’s my youngest, 
has told me time and again, not to carry this 
handkerchief in my hand, but I can’t remem- 
ber that any better than I can all the other 
things she says I mus’n’t and must do.” 

Mr. Blake laid the offending pocket-hand- 
kerchief across his knee, and handed Richard 
a large slice of apple pie. 

The overthrow of the coach, the setting of 
the broken limb, and the after consultation. 


234 


THE PASSENGERS OF THE COACH. 


had created a feeling of good-fellowship among 
the party, and Mr. Blake addressed them, 
while he distributed the viands, as if they had 
been mutually acquainted for years. 

“ This makes me think, he said, of the 
luncheons my mother used to put up for me 
when I was a boy.’^ 

Mr. Blake’s words brought to Richard’s 
mind so forcibly, the picture of his own home, 
which he had not now seen for nearly a month, 
that he swallowed a sob instead of his last 
mouthful of pie. While Mr. Blake discoursed 
freely of home affairs, the rest of the party 
finished the luncheon, and a few moments la- 
ter began to walk down the road, where the 
coach had preceded them. 


JACQUES LECROIX. 


235 


CHAPTER XVI. 

JACQUES LECROIX. 

t S the company went on their way, Rich- 
ard managed to keep close to Mr. Blake, 
trying to get up courage to ask a question 
which had presented itself to his mind, but it 
was not until they had gone a mile of the 
distance, and Mr. Blake and his neice, walk- 
ing a little ahead of the party, had become 
somewhat separated from them, that he dared 
to speak. 

The road had become somewhat smoother, 
and offered occasionally pleasant bits of land- 
scape, sometimes a little bay of verdure, a 
sunny reach of corn-field, a glimpse of the 
distant village, and beyond all, a low range 
of hills that seemed to bound the prospect. 


236 


JACQUES LECROIX. 


and yet to hide, to promise nothing. As they 
walked, they passed through odor-breathing 
trees, at whose feet lay purple • and scarlet 
blossoms, sudden yet natural , climaxes of splen- 
dor, which breathed out such subtle interfu- 
sions, that Kichard felt himself drinking in 
their fiery and fragrant souls. Within tiny 
pools of water, the clouds were refiected like 
islets of fioating fiame. Huge masses of rock, 
reddening and changing in the sun, fiung 
down broad shadows. Occasionally the nut and 

scarlet berry overhung the roadside, and in 
some trickling stream could be seen the brown, 
wet shine of the smooth stones. Here and 
there they passed a bridge, rustic and tremu- 
lous, which seemed to invite the traveller to 
linger, to cross and recross without any strin- 
gent motive. Sometimes a craggy, woody 
ledge would bring the scene to a close 
abruptly. While Richard looked upon all that 
makes up Nature^s sober exhilarating charm, 
and glancing at the stout man at his side, 


JACQUES LECROIX. 


237 

observed that he was not insensible to the kindly 
influences about him, said suddenly, in a voice 
not quite steady, 

Do you know, sir, the best way for me to 
go to Liverpool ? 

Mr. Blake checked his pace a little, and 
looked at his questioner with some surprise. 
He appeared to notice the threadbare and 
well-patched clothes, which in spite of Susan 
Tetlow’s friendly needle-work, seemed ready in 
places to drop apart, and then asked, 

Have you any money 
Very little.’^ 

YouVe clear, honest eyes, my boy. Got 
any letter of recommendation or anything of 
that sort to tell where ye came from ? 

'‘No, sir.’^ 

" What did you do at your last place ? 

" I helped Mr. Tetlow with the haying and 
did what I could or Mrs. Tetlow and Susan. 

"Could you* get a letter of recommendation 
from Mr. Tetlow ? ” inquired Mr. Blake. 


238 


JACQUES LECROIX. 


Certainly, sir. I will go back directly and 
get it. I started from there in the coach this 
morning.’^ 

“Wait a moment. You needn’t hurry. 

Mr. Blake and his neice then conversed 
together in low tones, and after some time the 
former said to Richard, 

“ Got any relation or friends anywhere ? ” 
“Yes, sir,” said Richard, but with such a 
look of pain on his face that Mary Ann pulled 
her uncle’s coat sleeve and whispered, 

“ Don’t question him about his folks.” 

“ I think I know of a chance for you,” said 
Mr. Blake. “ My brother-in-law’s a sea Cap’n. 
He’s Mary Ann’s father, and he’s going to 
Liverpool in a day or two. Shouldn’t wonder 
if he’d be glad to get ye. You can come right 
along with us,” and the free-hearted man kept 
to his word, and in a manner took Richard 
under his charge. 

When they arrived in New Bedford, and the 
train steamed into the dingy and dilapidated 


JACQUES LECROIX. 


239 


depot, Mr. Blake seemed to consider it a 
matter of course that Richard would go to his 
brother-in-law ^s house. 

Richard had hoard so much of the beauty 
of New Bedford, that he felt somewhat disap- 
pointed as he walked through the streets of 
that city. 

Captain Boggs, Mr. Blake’s brother-in-law, 
lived on one of the streets leading to the 
wharves. After a private conversation with 
Mr. Blake, he received Richard kindly, and 
invited him to stay at his house until the 
vessel sailed. Captain Boggs’ family consisted 
of* his wife, his daughter Mary Ann, and two 
twin boys of nine years of age, Joseph and 
Ernest. 

Richard spent the three days which elapsed 
before the sailing of the Araminta in exploring 
New Bedford and its environs. He admired 
the handsome private residences which adorned 
the upper part of the city, and passed an hour 


240 


JACQUES LECROIX. 


or two each day among the vessels at the 
wharf. 

He had engaged to go as cabin-boy on board 
jhe Araminta, and on the evening before sail- 
ing, the first mate, Jacques Lecroix, who was 
to be married to Mary Ann Boggs, took tea 
with the family. 

On the afternoon of that day Captain Boggs 
had provided Bichard with a neat sailor-suit, 
which was to be deducted from his wages at 
the end of the voyage. 

Bichard decided at the first glance that 
Jacques Lecroix was a very disagreeable per- 
son. He had made up his mind that plain, 
quiet Mary Ann Bogg’s lover would be a 
plain, quiet man, but during the introduction, 
which took place just before the family sat 
down to supper, a short, greasy-looking little 
Frenchman stood bowing, and displaying two 
rows of decayed teeth and ten dirty finger- 
nails. 

If Richard had been asked at that moment 


JACQUES LECROrX. 


241 


to sum up his opinion of Jacques, he would 
have replied in four words, dirt, oil, and 
howsJ^ This opinion was however destined to 
undergo several modifications. 

Jacques’ eyes were small, near together, and 
black, his hair black and heavy with pomade, 
his teeth reduced by neglect to a hopeless 
condition, and his skin and linen of the same 
dingy hue. 

“1 hav’n’t had an American boy in the last 
eight years, you know, Jacques,” said Captain 
Boggs, as he introduced Richard. 

Not a muscle of the Frenchman’s face be- 
trayed the surprise he felt at the appearance 
of the new cabin-boy. He made the inevitable 
bow, and extending his hand, said with an air 
of politeness and good-fellowship, 

“ Goot ev’ning, sare.” 

Richard* took the proffered hand with an 
inward feeling of disgust, and said with as 
cordial an air as he could assume, 

I hope you are very well, Mr. Lecroix.” 


242 


JACQUES LECROIX. 


A droll expression appeared about the 
Frenchman’s mouth, as Eichard spoke, but it 
vanished almost instantly as he replied, 

‘‘You need not say meestare Lecroix, but 
seemply Jacques. I hope we shall be vare 
goot friends — the best of friends.” 

They all sat down to the table, when Mary 
Ann, hoping to put Eichard more at his ease, 
said, 

“'You’ve never been to sea before, have 
you ? ” 

“No, ma’am,” replied Eichard. 

“You can be happy during the first voyage 
if you can succeed in ignoring some disen- 
chanting realities,” said Jacques. 

Captain Boggs was a man who perfectly 
understood the silver of language and the gold 
of silence. The little he saw fit to say on any 
subject was comprehensive and to*the point. 
He gave his opinions or his information with a 
careless tone and manner that inspired confi- 
dence. In conversation he seemed to have no 


• JACQUES LECROIX. 


243 


wish to persuade, and no anxiety as to the 
efiect his assertions might make. 

‘‘A boy who behaves well, will get along 
any where, he said, as he passed Jacques a 
plate of his favorite salad. 

“Have you nothing of fear concerning this 
first voyage ? asked the mate of Richard. 

“ Don’t try to frighten him, Jacques,” said 
Mary Ann. 

“It is surely better to embitter than to put 
to sleep,” replied the mate. 

“Are the crew all safe?” inquired Mr. 
Blake. 

“ As safe as sucBT m^n ever are,” returned 
the Captain. “ I promised each man a flogging 
who shirked his duty.” 

“How d’ye dare to talk to ’em in that way 
when they’re a dozen to your one?” inquired 
Mr. Blake. 

“To whom should one say the truth, but to 
those who have it not, nor any faith in it ? ” 
inquired Jacques. 


244 


JACQUES LECROIX, 


Are the sailors always such a rough set?’’ 
asked Mary Ann. 

‘‘ Of late years it has been growing more 
difficult to get together a good crew. In my 
father’s time, going to sea was the occupation 
of an honest man, as much as tilling the 
ground is, now. The Captain of a ship, if he 
knew his duty, had prayers morning and eve- 
ning, on board.” 

That would not go so well now,” said the 
mate. “ The crews are made up of all nations, 
and disagree always among themselves. Even 
their joys, like the slurs of a tavern fiddler, 
always end in discord.”* 

As Richard listened to the conversation, to 
him so new and strange, he began to feel a 
distaste for the occupation upon which he was 
soon to enter. He learned during the course 
of the evening that Jacques Lecroix had once 
saved Captain Boggs’ life, and that he was to 
be married to Mary Ann at the termination of 
the present voyage. 


JACQUES LECROIX. 


245 


After Richard had gone to bed that night, 
Jacques said to Mary Ann, 

‘‘ Do you see nossing strange in this Reech- 
ard ? 

“ No indeed, Jacques. What do you mean 
I will m^tke you understand me, Marie. 

This young man is not accustomed to such a 

\ 

poseetion. He is tall, well-made, and has more 
the air of a young officer in the navy, than that 
of the cabin-boy of the whaling vessel. He 
has a history. I see in his face only contempti 
for Jacques, although he makes the effort to 
be polite. 

Why, how can you think so ? inquired 
Mary Ann, looking with unfeigned admiration 
at the person addressing her. 

Incessant intercourse with men and cities 
loosens the tongue and opens the head as well 
as sharpens the eye, and the mate of the 
Araminta soon gave Mary Ann such strong 
reasons for his opinions that she looked grave, 
and said, 


246 


JACQUES LECROIX. 


We found him in the coach, going from 
his last place at a farmer^s, to look for an- 
other job, or glad of a chance to work his 
passage to Liverpool, and Uncle Josiah took 
pity on him, as he always does on everybody, 
you know; and Richard was very kind about 
helping to set my arm.’^ 


NEW BEDFORD WHARF. 


241 


CHAPTER XVII. 


NEW BEDFORD WHARF. 


N hour before the Araminta sailed, Jacques 
walked up to Richard, who sat on the 
head of a molasses cask near the end of the 
wharf, and informed him that the vessel was 
nearly ready. 

All around on rotten timbers and half-laden 
boxes, played the city^s step-children, the out- 
casts of the land, poor waifs and strays of 
humanity, floating social sea-weeds with no 
roots to grasp anything with a firm hold, 
forlorn wanderers, always needy, and ragged 
and starving. 

Richard had been comparing his own condi- 
tion with that of these social outcasts, and 
found so many points of correspondence, that 


/ 


218 NEW BEDFORD WHARF. 

he was in no very blithe mood when Jacques 

addressed him. 

‘‘What sort of a place is Liverpool he 
inquired. 

“ It resembles in many respects your Amer- 
ican cities/^ replied the Frenchman. “ It has 
wide and handsome streets, and the best way 
for you to get your bearings at first is to 
notice the principal avenues that lead out of 
the open space partly occupied by St. John^s 
Church and the railway station. It is vare 
easy to lose oneself in a strange city.^’ 

“ I want to find work there/ ^ said Richard, 
drearily. 

“ The best thing to do, would be to go first 
to the great sugar refineries and soap manu- 
factories. There is enough to keep the stranger 
from loneliness. 

Despite the first unpleasant impression, 
Richard could not help observing that the mate 
seemed kindly disposed towards him. 


“ I think the Captain would have done better 


NEW BEDFORD WHARF. 


249 


if he had engaged some other cabin-boy,” con- 
tinued Jacques, dryly. 

Kichard shifted uneasily about upon his seat. 

It would be vare much better, that he 
should find the family and send you back to 
them.^^ 

“You have no right to interfere with me or 
my afiairs,^^ exclaimed Richard, hotly, while a 
sudden flash of the temper which he had con- 
sidered conquered, lighted his eyes. 

“ Only kindness is intended, and not the 
insult, replied the Frenchman, fixing his 
small black eyes attentively upon the irritated 
boy before him. 

Richard struggled for a moment with him- 
self. The breeze came sweeping up the 
water with the salt vigor on its wet wings, 
and the air was so soft at times that it was a 
mere bliss to breathe it. Something in the 
air and scene reminded him of his bath with 
Harry Irving. Instead of nursing his wrath at 
Jacques, he resolved as soon as he arrived in 


250 


NEW BEDFORD WHARF. 


Liverpool to communicate through Black Jacob 
with his sister Kate. 

Jacques Lecroix, who had noted the chang- 
ing shadows and sunlight in Eichard^s face, 
without understanding the cause, said, 

“ The boy who has never been to sea, 
suffers much on the first voyage. 

Yes. I know. Pve read about such things. 
It can’t be helped.” 

The whaling vessel is uncertain ; sometimes 
dangerous.” 

“ Yes ; but Captain Boggs will leave me at 
Liverpool before going to the Southern ocean. 
Everybody about here says that the Araminta 
is well known in the oil-trade, that she is able 
to pay her men good wages, and that she has 
a good captain to sail under.” 

“ The Captain is one excellent man.” 

And the ship has always been accounted 
lucky. A few minutes ago one of the sailors 
told me that when others had returned ‘‘ clean,” 
the Araminta had given her men considerable 


NEW BEEFORD WHARF. 


251 


sums of money for their share in the enter- 
prise.’’ 

The cabin-boy ees not always counted a 
man,” said Jacques, with a shrewd look. 

“ But I am to have my share with the 
others. We are going on the principle of 
co-operation, you know. Captain Boggs said 
he was glad to have an American boy.” 

It is not easy to find cabin-boys like you, 
my friend. Do you understond the system you 
spoke of? ” 

‘‘ Yes. The Captain explained it to me. The 
men go out on the agreement that they shall 
receive a particular specified share of the total 
proceeds. Sometimes they draw nothing at all 
at the end of their voyage; sometimes each 
sailor receives as much as eight hundred 
dollars. Only think of that ! ” 

“ But sometimes they draw nothing at all.” 

Don’t try to discourage me,” broke out 
Richard. ‘'1 am as sick of going to sea as 
anyone can be. I always thought — ” 


252 


NEW BEDFORD WHARF. 


He could not finish the sentence, sitting 
opposite the little Frenchman, and thinking of 
the valley road at home, with the stream full 
to its banks, and crystal clear, with shoals of 
young fishes passing like drifted leaves over 
the pebbly ground, and the fragrant water 
beetles skimming the surface of the eddies. 
Photographed on his mind were the vaults of 
great elms and sycamores overhead filled with 
the green, delicious illuminations of the tender 
foliage, and beneath the trees Harry Irving 
and his favorite boy-friends enjoying the scene 
and the season. 

Jacques Lecroix was the first to speak. 

“ It would be better to return home, even 
if one should be forced to abase one^s pride, 
and confess to being wrong in the dispute. 

“You don^t understand the circumstances,^^ 
replied Eichard, recovering from his momentary 
weakness, dashing a tear from his eye, and 
standing very erect. “ As soon as I can 
ascertain whether matters are favorable to 


NEW BEDFORD WHARF. 


253 


me at home, I shall communicate with my 
friends.’^ 

The mate nodded approvingly, and seemed 
impressed by the exhibition of manly dignity 
which he had witnessed. 

“ In the mean time,^^ continued Richard, I 
shall be obliged to go as cabin-boy on -board 
the Araminta. Captain Boggs says the effect 
• of the system of co-operation is that the 
sailors engaged in it look after their fellows, 
and each does his best to aid the common 
cause. 

Hm ! ” coughed Jacques. “I understand 
the whale business vare well. You will do 
that which seems good to you. Youth likes 
not advice, but as life passes away, we dis- 
cover our mistakes as sinking glaciers discover 
old corpses. Now my friend, for me the 
blossoms of life have faded, but its fruits will 
never decay. If the magnet lies for a long 
time without being turned towards the right 
corners of the world, it loses its power, and 


254 


NEW BEDFORD WHARF. 


a boy is just the same : If he keeps not great 
men nor great objects before him, his powers 
fail. Perhaps you know already how by means 
of little objects which one daily attains, one 
consoles oneself for the high one which lies 
out of reach. 

Kichard listened, to the little Frenchman with 
genuine surprise. Jacques Lecroix, who was 
not at all stupid, perfectly understood the 
look of surprise. 

“You feel a great astonishment that a dirty 
looking fellow like me can have thoughts. I 
was not always as I am now. But no matter. 

I have seen a precious stone by rapid heating 
and cooling made into medicine, and I have 
become what I am by the cold and warm of* 
life. I could say this much better in my own 
language.’^ 

“1 think you talk well, sir, in our lan- 
guage,^’ said Richard, conscious of a dawning 
respect for the mate. 

I aim not to talk well,” but to dissuade 


NEW BEDFORD WHARF. 


255 


you from that which you will hereafter 'regret. 
I have lived on the water much. I know 
rivers, small or large, agree in one character : 
they like to lean a little on one side ; they 
cannot bear to have their channels deepest in 
the middle, but will always, if they can, have 
one bank to be shallow and play over, and 
another steep shore under which they can 
pause and purify themselves, and get their 
strength of waves fully -together for occasions. 
You have stayed under the steep shore long 
enough. Fear netting from without. The 
greatest dangers are within.. The company of 
the men on board is not for a boy like you.^^ 

‘‘It is too late now to think of that,^^ said 
Richard, sadly. 

The mate went on board. Richard followed, 
and the Araminta was not long afterward 
slowly ploughing her way out from the forest 
of masts among which she had lain for some 
weeks. She was an old, lumbering, clumsy 
vessel, and made headway in an awkward 


256 


NEW BEDFORD WHARF. 


style. When they were at a little distance 
from the wharf, Richard looked at New Bed- 
ford, sloping to the water through the pleasant 
morning light, and saw that the wharves were 
still occupied by the busy men and vagabond 
children with whom he had already become 
familiar. The place had grown pleasant to 
him, for he had received nothing but kindness 
there. On board he heard only the creaking 
ropes,.* the voices of the men, and the lapping 
of the water, and he looked back with a real 
longing, to his old seat on the wharf. 

At the left of Captain Boggs’ house lay the 
pleasant portion of the city. Through rich, 
shining clumps of trees peeped stately mansions 
and glimpses of cultivated lands, but Richard’s 
eyes wandered onh" from the Captain’s house 
to the old wharf. He had not many minutes 
for musing or regret, and it was only when he 
attempted to .obey orders of which he under- 
stood nothing, that his trials on board really 
began. 


THE AEAMINTA. 


251 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE ARAMINTA. 


I HEN the vessel had been six weeks out, 
and our hero had become somewhat 
accustomed to his duties, he began to be 
aware that wandering about the world and 
earning his own living, was in reality a 
very different thing from what it was repre- 
sented to be in the books of adventure which 
he had read. 

His companions were uncongenial, and the 
mate, who had been so friendly to him on 
shore, scarcely spoke ten words in a week to 
him on board, although his manner was as 
kind as before. 

One day he heard from one of the sailors 


258 


THE ARAMINTA. 


that the vessel would touch at two ports. By 
this time he had seen enough of the Araminta 
to know that in a gale of wind she had no 
notion of riding on the water, but that she 
rolled from side to side until her yards nearly 
touched the sea, and in her onward course 
went through the opposing waves, instead of 
over them ; moreover, so far during the cruise 
she had been unfortunate, and the crew were^ 
beginning to feel rather disgusted, and looked 
forward with some interest to a fresh supply 
of provisions, and an hour’s run on shore. 

They had reached Shark Bay, and expected 
within a few hours to anchor off an island 
which happened to be the birthplace of one 
of the crew. The wind had fallen, and the 
men were standing lazily about, looking out 
for any sign of its' rising again. At last one 
of the sailors called attention to the fact that 
a boat was putting . off from land. In a few 
minutes three men could be made out, and 
before long the pilot was on board. 


THE ARAMINTA. 


259 


It requires some experience of the sensation 
of home-sickness, and the longing for the sight 
of land, to understand how Kichard welcomed 
a new face, after having been cut off almost 
entirely from all human intercourse for six 
weeks. The pilot, in this case, was a very 
talkative and good-natured fellow, and ready 
to answer, to the best of his ability, all the 
questions which were showered upon him 
But the one absorbing piece of news on which 
he always fell back, when he could get a 
moment^s leisure from answering questions, 
was that Big Tom, who had commanded a 
privateer during the Secession War, had gath- 
ered about him a gang of the worst men on 
the island. Big Tom had horribly beaten a 
man against whom he had a grudge. Big Tom 
had tied a dozen different men to trees ; had 
stopped the coach in an out-of-the-way place, 
and with the help of his companions, had 
relieved the passengers of everything which 
possessed sufficient value in his eyes to be 


260 


THE ARAMINTA. 


worth taking. The police had been after him 
for weeks, but they seemed to give him but 
little trouble. Settlers in remote districts were 
suspected of purchasing their own security at 
the price. of allowing him to escape. 

The government had offered a reward for 
him. It was believed that he would make the 
attempt from the northern side of thf! island 
to escape over to the mainland ; extra men 
had therefore been stationed at every likely 
spot on the north coast, and every ship touch- 
ing at the island was subjected to a stricter 
search. All these particulars the old pilot 
related while waiting on the poop of the 
Araminta for the approach of the sea-breeze, 
which, usually setting in about three o^clock 
in the afternoon, would, in the course of three 
or four hours, carry them easily to their 
anchorage. 

Meantime from the side of the boat opposite 
where Richard leaned, looking into the face of 
the pilot, and listening to his stories, a long 


THE ARAMINTA. 


261 


whale-boat had put to sea, and was rapidly 
moving in the direction of the ship. The 
pilot was the first to notice her, and to won- 
der what she could be. She could not belong 
to any whaler, because none was in sight. 
The sailor who had been born in that locality 
declared that the boat did not belong to his 
native place, and there were no private boats. 
The pilot could only think of the boat which 
belonged to a small stretch of land called the 
isthmus, a lonely spot where Big Tom and his 
associates had committed many outrages. 

This view of the matter once suggested, 
made every one on the alert. In a few min- 
utes it became evident that the boat was 
making her way to the ship. As she drew 
near, she was carefully scanned, in order that 
some trace of her character might be discov- 
ered. 

“Can they be a ship-wrecked crew ? asked 
one man. 

“ Two of them are farmers by their dress, 


262 


THE ARAmNTA. 


said the sailor familiar with the locality, and 
Captain Boggs noticed that there were only four 
men pulling, although eleven were in the boat. 

Presently, Richard saw a white rag hoisted 
on the top of an oar, and the man who had 
suggested that they might be a ship-wrecked 
crew gave himself credit for his sagacity. 

If they are shipwrecked men, they pull 
like landsmen,’^ said one sailor. 

But all sailors don’t pull like whalers,” 
suggested another. 

“ And sailors, who are not whalers, don’t 
carry whaling-boats such as that,” answered 
Captain Boggs. 

Richard perceived that there were circum- 
stances about the incident which created some 
anxiety, and now while the ship was lying 
becalmed, the topic became exciting. 

As soon as the boat could be made out 
clearly, and a fair notion obtained of the men 
in her, Richard saw that two had blue shirts ; 
the rest had nothing in particular in their 


THE ARAiHNTA. 


263 


dress to indicate who or what they were. 
They might be sailors or ordinary laborers. 
As the boat drew near he could see that they 
only posessed four oars ; at the same time he 
counted eleven men. As soon as they got 
within speaking distance, the captain shouted 
to ask them who they were, and what they 
wanted. Something in the captain^s manner 
made the crew think that his suspicions were 
aroused. Yet there was apparently only a 
boat of unarmed men approaching. 

We are the shipwrecked crew of the Con- 
cord, American whaler,” shouted the man 
steering in the whale-boat. 

"‘That boat never belonged to an American 
whaler,” said the captain to the pilot.” 

“ She is the isthmus boat ; I know her by 
the red line,” interrupted the pilot Eagerly. 

“ Mr. Lecroix,” the captain called quietly 
to the first mate, “ get your anchor on the 
bulwarks ready to drop over into that boat if 
there should be any need of it.” 


264 


THE ARAMINTA. 


Mr. Lecroix looked as if he thought the 
precaution rather a foolish one, but obeyed as 
a matter of course. 

‘"Now, boatswain, bring up your lances and 
harpoons.^’ 

When the latter order had been obeyed, it 
became evident to Richard that it would have 
been an extremely dangerous thing to make 
an attack on the Araminta. The lance in the 
hands of a skillful whaler, is a terrible weap- 
on. He could also see by the faces of the 
crew that they thought the Captain’s precau- 
tions altogether unnecessary. Wondering, and 
somewhat frightened, he scarcely knew why, 
he did not lose a word or a motion on either 
side. 

By the time the boat was within easy speak- 
ing distance of the ship, the men could be 
readily seen from the deck. 

How do you come by that boat ? ” asked 
the pilot. 

“ The isthmus people lent it to us to go to 


THE ARAmNTA. 


265 


tne other side of the island. Our own was 
too much damaged to float any longer.’^ 

''But this is not the way to the other side.” 

"No. We saw you, and thought you would 
give us a lift when the sea-breeze came up,” 
answered the man at the steering-oar. 

The whole aspect of affairs looked so ordi- 
nary, that no one seemed to think of making 
any opposition to the approach of the boat. 
A rope-ladder was thrown over- to them, and 
without more ado they made fast their boat, 
and followed each other closely on board. 

Richard never forgot that the short, active 
man, who stepped on board first, strongly re- 
sembled a Mr. Littleton who had bought the 
" Leman Place,” about two miles from his 
own home. 

The resemblance was so striking, that the 
man’s face brought instantaneously to mind 
every particular connected with the transfor- 
mation of the " Leman Place.” 

Mr. Littleton, who was a short, solid man, 


266 


THE ARAMINTA. 


in ripe middle age, of a thoroughly cosmopoli- 
tan, though not a remarkably intellectual 
stamp, had achieved the most that was possi- 
ble in a very short time after purchasing the 
“Leman Place. The worn house had been 
brightened, surrounded by light, airy verandas, 
and the lawn and garden, thrown into one, 
and given into the hands of a skillful gardener. 
A broad, solid gravel-walk replaced the old 
tan-covered path ; a pretty fountain tinkled be- 
fore the door ; thick beds oT geranium in 
flower studded the turf. Wild flowers, pink 
azalias, delicate sigillarias, valerian, and scar- 
let painted-cup blossomed in profusion, but 
despite the improvements, the merry whoops 
and calls of the Leman children, who had 
formerly resided on the place, were missed 
by the many who had known and loved 
the family. In the spring-time the crimson 
and gold of the flowering spice-bushes and 
maple trees, and all the evidences of mellow 
fortunate expansion of life, could not drive out 


THE ARAMINTA. 267 

of the neighbors’ hearts the long-tried love for 
the plain family of old farmer Leman. 

Within the house, some rooms had been 
thrown together, the walls richly yet harmo- 
niously colored, that the sumptuous furniture 
might receive a proper setting. In contrast to 
the houses of even the wealthiest farmers, 
which expressed a nicely-reckoned sufficiency, 
of comfort, the place, under its new proprietor, 
had an air of joyous profusion, of a wealth 
which delighted in itself. Then for an instant 
Richard thought of the fragrant, shining mead- 
ows, down the valley, at the foot of the blue 
hill, which, had so often wooed his eyes, and 
suggested to his heart that mysterious sense 
of hope which lies in landscape distances. 
Out of the far-off distance of dead joys, over 
all abysses of homesickness, loneliness and 
yearning love, memory, the great power which 
distance is powerless to tame, took swift pos- 
session of the boy’s nature, and he connected 
the principal actor in the present scene, with 


268 


THE ARAIHNTA. 


that of one of the scenes of his interrupted 
home-life. For the second, it seemed to him, 
that it was Mr. Littleton’s own self who 
stepped on deck and began the tragedy, which 
lasted only three minutes. 

The picture which memory held for a mo- 
ment before his eyes, did not blind him to the 
fact that the short active man who resembled 
Mr. Littleton, and who acted as leader of the 
boat’s crew, produced a pistol, and pointing it 
at the head of the whaler nearest him, intima- 
ted, in the plainest possible way, that death 
would be the doom of any one who should 
venture to resist. 




THE CAPTURE. -269 








THE CAPTURE. 


269 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE CAPTURE. 

t ICHARD allowed himself time to catch 
his breath, and then with something be 
tween a gasp and a sob made a sudden rush 
forward to the side of the Captain, who in 
the face of death, and with only two men to 
assist him, did resist the assailant. The other 
whalers were too much surprised and cowed 
to act or scarcely to think. 

The assailants made short work with the 
Captain, the two men and the cabin-boy. A 
shot was fired at each. The Captain was 
slightly, and the two men mortally, wounded. 
Richard fought bravely, but was overpowered, 
and then the Araminta was in the possession 
of eleven scoundrels^ Her crew, with the 


270 


THE CAPTURE, 


exception of three men, were bound ; the old 
pilot and captain were locked in a cabin, at 
the door of which a man stood sentry and 
the ship’s head was* turned seaward. The 
captors then held a short consultation, and the 
result was that they ordered four of the crew 
and the pilot to be brought on deck, to be 
lowered into the whale-boat by which they 
had themselves come to the ship, and turned 
, adrift. When this was done, the Captain and 
the remainder of his crew, now reduced to six, 
were brought together, and informed by Big 
Tom— for the leader of the ruffians, who had 
brought the ‘‘ Leman Place ” and its proprietor 
so distinctly to Richard’s mind, was the noto- 
rious individual of whom the pilot had talked 
— ^that they were going to California, that re- 
sistance on the part of anybody would be pun- 
ished by instant death, but that if these 
sailors would work willingly, they should be 
well treated. 

Richard’s heart gave a great bound when he 


THE CAPTURE. ‘ 271 

heard the place of destination. India, Africa, 
' almost every country in the world but his own, 
had passed through his mind as the destined 
port of the vessel under its new management. 
California, which in the sweet security of home- 
life had seemed a far-off land, now appeared 
by its familiar name as pleasantly near to the 
Peters farm as New York or Philadelphia. 

The same night the ship ran out of the bay 
and by daylight was out of sight of land. 

During the week that followed. Captain 
Boggs, whose wound almost completely dis- 
abled him, was treated with the utmost 
harshness by Big Tom, and might have fared 
worse, but for the fact that nobody else knew 
CO thoroughly how to work the ship. 

Jacques Lecroix, the mate, had very little 
to say, and acquiesced apparently in what 
could not be helped. Big Tom seemed to 
have taken a liking to him. 

Richard, who had had a good word from 
every sailor on board the Araminta, was hated 


2Y2 


THE CAPTURE. 


by the leader of the rufiSans, who resented 
every time he met him, our heroes brave 
resistance, on the day of the capture. 
Eichard saw and felt the consequences of this 
hatred, continually, but he made himself par- 
ticularly useful aloft, and was much too valua- 
ble in helping the men who had been deputed 
to do the work of those turned adrift, to be 
killed outright, although he was very badly 
used. 

He was called up at all times of the day 

and night, to do the most difficult and dan- 

gerous work. If a sail wanted reefing, Rich- 
ard had to go, whether the summons were in 
his watch or not. While everybody else had 

a certain number of hours^ sleep, he was 

pretty certain to be disturbed in his, and 
might think himself fortunate if he got half 
the allotted time. The ruffians themselves 
followed their leader^s example, and this the 
more readily because they saw that the latter 
rather liked to see them ill-use the boy. 


THE CAPTUEE. 273 

Richard bore in silence the evils which 
could not be remedied. All the hardships he 
had known since he left home, put together, 
were nothing in comparison with the sufierings 
he now endured during twenty-four hours. 

A fortnight passed, and the ship had made 
good progress. Nothing of importance had 
occurred on board, until one day Big Tom 
had Richard hoisted with a rope under his 
arms up to the cross-trees, and kept there 
until he fainted. Shortly after, he was sent 
aloft on a cold night, and kept there, just as 
he had turned out of his berth, until morning, 
when he was so cold that it was only with 
the aid of the mate, that he reached the deck. 
Nobody else would have dared to have given 
Richard a helping hand, but Jacques Lecroix 
knew he had made himself rather a favorite 
with Big Tom. He had done what he could 
for the poor cabin-boy, and given him many 
an encouraging word, had warded off many a 
blow, but, as he brought him down the com- 


2H THE CAPTURE. 

panion, it seemed that he too was desertinfj 
him ; for he whispered in his ear, not words 
of consolation, but a command and a threat : 

‘'You must not say anything that would 
sound as if we were friends, or I shall let 
them do that which they choose with you.^^ 

Richard in his pain and misery pondered 
much upon these words. What did the mate 
mean by thus wishing that all kind feeling 
between them should be unknown ? The cap- 
tain, too, seemed not to have a kind glance 
for the boy who had been his prime favorite, 
but was gloomy and sulky ; the pain from the 
wound, the loss of his ship, and the ill-treat- 
ment he received, seemed to leave him time 
for nothing ejge than grumbling. He was 
compelled to assist the mate in taking the 
ship’s latitude and longitude, and Big Tom 
was cunning enough to watch very jealously 
that there was no connivance between them, 
wliich would run them into dangerous waters. 

As the days drew on, weary days enough 


THE CAPTUPE. 2 ’1 5 

for Kichard; the captain recovered to some 
extent his health and spirits. Night after 
night he saw the ruffians take alternate rounds 
of carousing, until he sometimes thought they 
would set the Araminta on fire ; and then 
there would return the great hope of freedom 
and of bringing his captors to justice. 

One day when they had treated Richard 
with uncommon severity, the captain managed 
to get near him, and tell him that he particu- 
larly hated the scoundrels for such cruelty, 
and that if the Araminta were overhauled by 
any vessel, English, French or American, he 
would denounce those men, even though he 
should be shot that very moment. 

Probably Captain Boggs never knew the 
courage and hope which those few words of 
timely sympathy awoke in the breast of his 
abused and despairing cabin-boy. Richard did 
not dare to give him even a grateful look, but 
he treasured up the few sentences and watched 
the captain closely. He felt sure that he was 


276 


THE CAPTURE. 


trying for a chance to make off in a boat ; but 
his captors were much too careful for that — 
would not even allow him to be too long with 
any of his old crew. 

The mate, whom Richard saw necessarily a 
good deal every day, seemed to have quite 
gone over to the enemy, for when our hero 
overheard the captain make one or two sug- 
gestions to seize the ship, or to have a boat 
lowered under some easily feigned pretence, 
and to get away in the night, the mate had 
only shaken his head, and said that it could 
not be done. 

“Wait,^^ he said, ^‘things may turn out 
right. Take it easy till they do.’^ 

The mate seemed to be Big Tom^s friend, 
and was believed to be . so by all on board ; 
but the ship’s carpenter, a Frenchman, who 
had known Jacques Lecroix from his baby- 
hood, whispered to Richard that the mate was 
playing a part to suit purposes of his own. 
So when within a week he heard Mr. Lecroix 


THE CAPTURE. 277 

convincing Big Tom that it was necessary to 
retain the captain, in order to do some of the 
calculation required for the navigation, our 
hero did not altogether give up the hope of 
being rescued. In his present situation, the 
thought of home seemed almost like a dream 

of Paradise, but all the more he clung to this 

% 

one oasis in the desert of surrounding circum- 
stances. 

At last he heard Big Tom tell the mate his 
plans. They were to go to California, to sell 
the ship, and make off with the money. 
Jacques Lecroix inquired how much he was 
to be paid for Ms trouble, at which- the other 
seemed very much surprised, but after much 
haggling, a bargain was struck. 

When this came to the ears of the captain, 
— who was a rare hand at whale-fishing, but 
much too simple and straight-forward a sailor 
to make out what was going on in the brain 
of his mate — he told Richard one evening that 
he had resolved to denounce the mate when- 


278 


THE CAPTURE. 


ever he should have the chance, and as for 
Mary Ann, he would see her buried twenty 
times over, before she should marry such a 
man. 

California being the destination. Big Tom 
consulted with Jacques Lecroix as to whether 
it would not look less suspicious for the ship 
to go with a cargo of oil, than to go empty, 
and the latter decided that it would. 

The cabin-boy was considered of so little 
importance, that almost any plan was dis- 
cussed before him, so that, in the course of 
time he became better acquainted with the 
real state- of affairs on board than any other 
person. 

When Captain Boggs learned that the ship 
was to be put a little out of her course in 
order that they might come upon whaling- 
ground, his spirits improved wonderfully. 
Everything was got " ready, and nobody 
thought it necessary to tell Big Tom that the 
circumstance of a northern ship going so far 


THE CAPTURE. 2Y9 

out of her course would be suspicious, and 
the captain told Richard with something of a 
twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes, that though 
landsmen were generally unaware of the fact, 
ships usually kept within very narrow tracks, 
and very seldom struck out a new course for 
themselves. 

In a few days, the joyful cry was heard 
announcing that a fish was in sight. A boat 
was lowered; the captain was placed in it, 
with an equal number of ruflSans and ordinary 
sailors. The ruffians, however, carried pistols. 
Richard looked longingly into the boat as it 
pushed off, thinking the captain resolved upon 
some plan of escape. The boat, however, re- 
turned after a successful day’s work, bringing 
about five hundred dollars’ worth of oil. This 
gain excited the men, who wished to continue 
the sport, . but Big Tom feared any further 
delay. 

The next day, as an observation showing . 
their position had been entered, Richard, who 


280 


THE CAPTURE. 


was standing near the captain, thought he saw 
the mate direct a look of intelligence across 
the paper, but the captain did not look up. 
The mate by a quick sign intimated to Rich- 
ard his desire to attract the captain ^s atten- 
tion. Richard’s heart beat rapidly, for he felt 
the full importance of the intelligence to be 
conveyed. 

The captain was marking their latitude and 
longitude on the chart, according to the daily 
custom on board ship. The leader of the ruf- 
fians was momentarily absent — for although he 
put more trust in the mate than in anybody 
else, he never allowed the observations to be 
taken, or the entries in the log or on the 
chart to be entered, out of his presence, — so 
Richard, feeling that 'it was his only opportu- 
nity, touched Captain Bogg’s shoulder and 
looked towards the mate, who immediately 
pointed out how near they would be to a cer- 
tain island, where they would be pretty sure 
to find a government vessel. 


THE CAPTURE. 


281 


Then when the mate was asked by the cap- 
tain to check his working, the former wrote 
upon the slate, '' Lose yourself, and make off 
for the island.^’ The captain, after reading 
the message, turned the slate, and took the 
opportunity of afterwards rubbing out the 
writing without arousing the suspicion of the 
ruffian leader, who had returned to the cabin 
while this had been going on. 

Richard's life was now a long misery. He 
suffered from every kind of oppression which 
the ill-will of bad men could suggest. Besides 

insufficient food and rest, and being exposed 

« 

to all weathers, he was rope's-ended without 
the smallest compunction.- 

On the same day the boat was manned 
again. The crew was composed of three ruf- 
fians, armed. Captain Boggs and four of the 
crew of the Araminta. Richard was put in, in 
order to take the place of the harpoon-thrower 
at the oar, when the whale had been reached. 
A few hours later the captain managed to 


282 


THE CAPTURE. 


tell Richard that the raate had determined to 
do his utmost to get the Araminta under the 
notice of a man-of-war. 

The boat started in a westerly direction, but 
the school of whales having turned south, the 
boat likewise changed its direction. The ship 
instead of following gently, as ordinarily, kept 
her course unaltered. The captain looked 
knowingly at Richard. Apparently the ship 
was making a series of irregular circles around 
a given point ; really she was making a series 
of ellipses round a point, which was moving at 
each ellipse more to the north. Richard knew 
that Big Tom could not afford to lose the 
boat’s crew, inasmuch as it was almost neces- 
sary to have some of the five seamen who 
were in her to manage the vessel. 

The boat had a long chase, but in the end 
they were successful. A whale was harpooned 
lanced and killed, and then for the first time 
the men became clearly conscious that the 
ship was not in sight. They were certain that 


THE CAPTURE. 


283 


the morning would show them the Araminta. 
They had a stock of provisions which would 
last them three or four days, and therefore 
made themselves as comfortable as they could, 
keeping watch by turns. 

The night was a pleasanter one than Eich- 
ard had passed during several weeks, for he 
was not disturbed, and but for the cramped 
position in which he had to lie, he had little 
cause to regret that he was not on board ship. 

In the morning the ship was not in sight. 
The day passed wearily, all the men keeping 
an anxious lookout, and none more anxious 
than the captain. While they hoped, he told 
Richard that he feared seeing the Araminta. 
As the day wore on, and no signs appeared, 
the men, and especially the rujBfians, began to 
be seriously uneasy, for if, by chance, they 
fell in with a strange vessel, they would be 
in a fair way to pay • the penalty of their 
offences. 

When night came there was no sleep for 


284 


THE CAPTURE. 


any one except Richard, who, worn out with 
the hard work he had had on the first day, 
and feeling sure that nothing worse could be 
in store for him than a return to the ship, 
slept as soundly as if in his own bed at home. 

The second morning came, but no signs of 
the Araminta. The captain and the' sailors 
advised that they should niake at once for 
land, but the others opposed. As the weary 
hours passed away, half provisions were served 
out, and the ruffians proposed that half even 
of that amount should be given to Richard, 
but the others stood by him, and although the 
five sailors were unarmed, the captain had 
near him the ship’s lances, so that all on 
board felt that a conflict would be a hazard- 
ous thing. 

When night and morning again came and 
no ship in sight, they were all of one mind. 
Any death would be better than starvation. 
They must now aim at land. The captain 
thought he could hit it. As Richard looked at 


THE CAPTURE. 


285 


the sky above, and the watery expanse around 
him, he gave up all hope of seeing his home 
again. 

With death so near, as he had opportunity, 
he confided his history to Captain Boggs, who 
promised, if he survived, to communicate to 
Mr. Peters the tidings of his son^s fate. The 
continued ill-treatment which Eichard had re- 
ceived was beginning to tell heavily upon 
him, and in spite of the captain’s efforts to 
cheer him, he failed. 

When the captain had heard the whole of 
his cabin-boy’s story, he affirmed that if James 
Eeling had died from the injury he received 
in falling, Richard’s only course should have 
been a straightforward statement of the affair. 

Although Richard had now strong suspicions 
that Joe Tibbetts had intentionally deceived 
him, he ^ felt no anger against him. He re- 
called to mind texts from the Holy Book 
which his sister loved. One of her favorite 
hymns — 


286 


THE CAPTURE. 


“All that feeds my busy pride. 
Cast it evermore aside ; 

Jesus cast a look on me ! 

Give me true simplicity” — 


Kecurred to him again and again, and fastened 
upon his imagination, and then took hold upon 
his heart. In the long twilights his thoughts 
were ever busy with home-scenes. The more 
he meditated upon his sister’s pure and cheer- 
ful life, the more directly he traced as its 
cause the maxims so often on her lips. Dia- 
monds are found only in the dark places of 
the earth, and many of the hours which the 
sailors supposed Richard passed in a state of 
drowsiness, he spent in silent prayer. In the 
hour of his greatest need, he stretched out 
his hand to feel it clasped in that of his Al- 
mighty Friend. " ^ 

When the boat’s head was turned landward, 
the men pulled with a will, but were nearly 
worn out by night, when the captain calcula- 


THE CAPTURE. 28t 

ted they had gone about one-third of the dis- 
tance. The quantity of provisions was reduced 
again, and the reduction told on the labors 
next day ; but while they dragged heavily at 
the oars they were unwilling to confess that 
their strength was failing for want of food. 

As the fourth and fifth days passed, the dis- 
tance got over was smaller than on the pre- 
ceding. Some of the men could take very 
short spells at the oars — Richard shorter than 
any of the rest. The captain took his turn, 
and animated by his secret hopes, seemed so 
strong that the others looked at him in aston- 
ishment. 

On the morning of the sixth day, one ruflSan, 
one sailor, and Richard, could only lie in the 
bottom of the boat. Richard was quite sense- 
less, almost lifeless. 

ilt noon land was in sight ; first a low line 
of green, and beneath it a strip of yellow 
sand becoming more and more distinct. No 
houses could be made out. At this time the 


0 


288 THE CAPTURE. 

ruffians held a short whispered consultation, 
and at its close drew their pistols and de- 
clared they would go no further until the sail- 
ors had promised not to expose them when 
they reached the land. This two of the sail- 
ors, scarcely more than half alive, readily 
promised, and the others soon fell in with the 
agreement. 

Richard was too exhausted to be capable of 
understanding what was going on. Once or 
twice the captain had looked anxiously to see 
whether he still breathed. The extreme ex- 
haustion which had followed his hard work 
and rough usage, made him lie like one dead. 

No threats of being thrown overboard or of 
being shot, could extort from Captain Boggs 
any other promise than that he would be si- 
lent so long as he was on the island they 
were approaching. 

By sunset they were on shore. As soon as 
the men stood on land, a few natives came to 
meet them, from whom they soon procured 


THE CAPTURE. 


289 


food and water. The natives were very gen- 
tle, and treated their visitors well. After two 
days had passed, they were all suflSciently 
recovered, with the exception of Richard, to 
make a journey across the island. 

The captain knew that many American ves- 
sels touched at this island, but he kept this 
knowledge to himself. As Richard was not 
strong enough to accompany the rest, the 
captain determined that he would send help to 
him as soon as they should meet with any. 
During their journey across the island, they 
met a native who told them which direction 
to take to reach a small settlement. 

This settlement was composed of one or two 
merchant settlers with their families, and a 
few sick sailors who had been left on shore to 
recover. They all heartily welcomed the ship- 
wrecked crew, as they believed them to be. 

Three days afterward, the captain sent for 
Richard, but before he reached the settlement, 
a vessel called the Lenore touched at the isb 


290 THE CAPTURE. 

and, and offered passage to all the new-comers. 
After some hesitation, the cause of which he 
expressed to no one, Captain Boggs concluded 
to go with the rest. 

The Lenore was a small vessel well stocked 
with provisions, and the shipwrecked crew 
were especially well fitted out by the kindly 
hands of their countrymen. 

On the evening of the day the vessel sailed, 
Richard was brought into the settlement by 
the men who had been sent over for him. 
He had not been in the settlement one hour 
before every one in it knew the character of 
the men by whom the Araminta had been 
seized, the particulars of her seizure, the real 
story of the whaling crew, and every particu- 
lar about the voyage, with the exception of 
his own ill-treatment. 

When the inhabitants learned that they had 
given their hospitality to men of the worst 
type, they set about devising means to bring 
the offenders to justice. ' Richard, whose youth 


THE CAPTURE. 


291 


and good constitution asserted themselves un- 
der rest and kind treatment, took a lively 
interest in these debates, and despite his en- 
feebled condition, longed to share in any 
action which might tend to restore Captain 
Boggs to the command of the Araminta. 


292 


THE RESCUE. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE RESCUE. 



N the midst of many suggestions; the one 


which was finally hit upon was to send 
a small schooner which was in the harbor, in 
pursuit. She was to carry as many men as 
could be spared from the settlement, so as to 
be prepared for a fight if necessary. Ten of 
the recovered sailors, added to more belonging 
to the schooner, made a crew of a dozen men, 
with half a dozen extra men from the settle- 
ment. The night was spent in preparation. 
On the following day the crew went on board, 
taking with them, at his own request, Rich- 
ard. 

As the land-breeze began to blow, the little 
trader sent out in pursuit, weighed anchor, 
and commenced the chase. 


THE RESCUE. 


293 


On board the pursuing vessel, which was 
called the William Watson, every eye searched 
the horizon carefully during each successive 
day, with a view of catching sight of the 
Araminta. At the end of a week she was 
seen. In the early morning the William Wat- 
son was at the stern of the Araminta, and as 
the day advanced became more and more dis- 
tinct. This alone was proof to those on board 
the Araminta, that she was a quicker sailor 
than the whaler. 

The little trader was very fleet, lightly 
built, and capable of carrying a large spread 
of sail. She answered the signals of the 
whaler in the usual way, and was surprised 
to see that the whaler’s boat was lowered. 
Richard, who had seen this movement on a 
recent well-remembered occasion, suggested 
to the officer on board the William Watson, 
that the crew of the whale-boat were going to 
attempt a capture. The officer prepared to 
receive them. Every man was armed, and all 


294 


THE RESCUE. 


but four were ordered to hide themselves be- 
hind the bulwarks. The four or five left on 
deck showed no arms, but lounged about lazily 
after the manner of the men they wished to 
imitate. 

As soon as they were within hailing dis- 
tance, Big Tom cried, 

“ What ship is that ? 

The William Watson.^’ 

“ Throw us a rope ; we are coming on 
board. 

As soon as the request was complied with, 
one after another the men swung themselves 
on board. In another instant Big Tom 
knocked one of the seamen down, and made 
a rush at the rest. 

But at that moment there was another rush of 
armed men from under the shelter of the little 
boat which was placed on deck, from the 
shelter of the bulwarks, and from the cabin. 

After a short fierce struggle, one man after 
another belonging to the boat^s crew was dis- 


THE RESCUE* 


295 


abled, until they were completely overpowered 
and placed in irons and carefully guarded. 
When they saw Richard, they seemed suddenly 
to understand their situation. 

All that now remained to the little trader 
was to catch up with the Lenore, in which 
the captain of the whaler and the whale-boat^s 
crew had taken passage. In this the William 
Watson was fortunate ; in two days she fell 
in with a man-of-war which had boarded the 
Lenore, and Captain Boggs had in spite of 
threats boldly denounced his three fellow- 
passengers. The captain was transferred to 
the man-of-war as a free man, and his three 
companions as prisoners. 

The man-of-war then went in search of the 
Araminta, and Captain Boggs found her in 
charge of the officer of the William Watson, 
and saw again his mate Jacques Lecroix, and 
his convalescent cabin-boy. 

The whole of the ruffians, with their leader, 
were taken on board the man-of-war, and 


296 


THE RESCUE. 


Captain Boggs and his crew were again in 
sole possession of the Araminta. 

The mate and Richard found themselves the 
heroes of the hour, but Richard’s heart was 
too full of humility to allow of his being 
elated at the praises which were showered 
upon him. 

In the course of a few days the mate had 
explained to the captain the course which 
he had pursued in trying to save the Ara- 
minta, and Captain Boggs confessed Jacques 
Lecroix’ superiority as a strategist. 

The Araminta being such a slow sailor, the 
ruffians had concluded to abandon her alto- 
gether, and get possession of the William Wat- 
son, which would much better answer their 
purpose to escape. Jacques Lecroix, seeing 
his delays of the Araminta were fruitless in 
bringing her under the notice of any other 
•vessel, had begun to despair, when the unex- 
pected relief came. - 

Captain Boggs treated Richard with kind* 


THE RESCUE. 297 

ness which almost amounted to tenderness. 
He advised him to return to his own home 
without delay, and offered to put him on 
board the first homeward-bound vessel they 
should meet, and to supply him with funds 
sufficient for his return. 

Richard thankfully accepted the captain’s 
advice, and a week later found himself on 
board a vessel bound for New York. 

The Araminta went in search of oil, then to 
Liverpool, and finally made a more snccessful 
voyage than she had ever before known. 

When Richard arrived in New York he 
went, according to the advice Captain Boggs 
had given him, to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. 

Before he secured a carriage, on leaving the 
vessel, he wondered why all the hackmen 
yelled, and snapped their whips in the faces 
of unoffending travellers, and was beginning 
to feel rather helpless in the midst of the hid- 
eous din, when he found that a simple nod of 
the head, converted a shouting giant near him 


298 


THE RESCUE. 


into a friend and protector until he reached 
the hotel. Once there, he was surprised to 
find that one of the clerks at the office had 
been expecting him, and had reserved a pleas- 
ant room on the front of the house. 

Our hero’s surprise momentarily increased 
at the kindness and attention shown him. 
After having bathed, and eaten his somewhat 
late breakfast, he sat down by the open win- 
dow, and consulted the time-table with which 
the friendly clerk supplied him. While he was 
lost in conjecture as to how he had better 
present himself at his own home, and what 
his reception would be, he heard a knock at 
the door, and a waiter entered, bringing a 
card, on which was written, 

‘^FATHER AND KATE.”- 

Richard’s heart gave a bound, and he 
could find no reply for the man in waiting. 
A moment afterwards he never could tell how 
it happened, but Kate was clinging about his 


THE RESCUE. 


299 


neck and sobbing, and he heard his father’s 
tender voice, saying. 

My son, my son..^^ 

Then Richard tried to whisper a few words 
to Kate, but she lay quiet, with her arms 
tight about his neck, glad to drink the must 

of a fiery hour which should clear itself up, 

into an eternal wine for the whole of life •„ 

and it seemed to Richard, as he held his 

sister in his arms, and felt his father’s hand 
upon his head, that he stood upon the 
shore of a sea of rest, across which lay the 
former stormy world with its hot coasts ; 
and they all remembered it afterward as one 
of life’s happy moments. 

After a time Mr. Peters said, 

‘‘ How thin you are, my son. Your mother 
is waiting for you at home. She was not well 
enough to come.” 

Mr. Peters understood the look which Rich- 
ard gave him, and replied to it. 


300 


THE RESCUE. 


“No. She is not very ill ; only the anxiety 
has worn upon her.^^ 

Katy recovered herself. suflSciently to lift her 
head and say quickly, 

“ She began to get well as soon as we 
heard from you.^’ 

“ How ? asked Richard. 

“ Captain Boggs and Mr. Jacques Lecroix 
each wrote us a letter, and we had a telegram 
from New York to meet you here. We have 
heard of your sufferings. Your punishment 
has been severe, my child. 

Richard winked away a tear. His father 
had not once reproached him I 

“ And James Eeling is as sorry as anybody 
about what happened, and wants to ask your 
forgiveness, Ricky. He told me so last 
night,^^ whispered Katy. 

It all seemed like a dream to Richard, from 
which he feared to awake. He had had such 
pleasant dreams on the ocean, and had awak- 
ened to such terrible realities I 


THE RESCUE. 


301 


After a time they sat down and began to 
talk. Richard sat between his father and 
Kate, holding a hand of each in his, and 
feasted his eyes upon their dear familiar 
faces. 

‘‘Would you like a few days' rest before 
going home?" inquired his father. 

But Richard showed plainly that going 
home would be the pleasantest way of resting; 
and his father said, 

“ Home air will bring rosy cheeks." 

Upon which Richard smiled his satisfac- 
tion. 

After dinner Mr. Peters went over the hotel 
with his children. They had heard travellers 
complain of the delay in obtaining food after 
it was ordered at the table ; but they likewise 
saw the flights of stairs and the great dis- 
tances which the servants were obliged to 
traverse in order to obtain the desired articles. 
They learned that many persons, especially 
those unaccustomed to travelling, are in the 


802 


THE RESCUE. 


habit of ordering at hotels twice or thrice the 
quantity they are able to consume, because 
they are not obliged to pay in proportion to 
their orders. 


THE RETURN. 


303 


CHAPTER IXI. 

THE RETURN. 

M ICHARD’S reception at home was an oc- 
casion to be remembered throughout the 
life-time of every member of 'the family. 

Edgar set apart his new silver-mounted rid; 
ing-whip, in his estimation the most valuable 
piece of property he had ever owned, as a 
present for his brother. Hubert decided to 
give Richard his magnificently bound and 
illustrated Pilgrim^s Progress. 

Granville chose as a token of welcome the 
handsome chest of tools which he had received 
a month before 'from his grandfather, and little 
Albert, perceiving the family bent, resolved 
to part with his favorite Newfoundland dog, 
Prince. 


THE RETURN. 


SOi 

Katy, who in the darkest hours had never 
given up her faith that her beloved brother 
was under the especial care of his Heavenly 
Father, had taught the ring dove to hold a 
tiny silk flag, 051 which was embroidered 

Welcome Home,’^ in blue, scarlet and gold 
upon a white ground. 

On the afternoon of the day following that 
of the meeting between Mr. Peters, Richard 
and Kate, at the hotel, the trio got out of the 
train, and entered the old-fashioned coach 
which stood in waiting to convey passengers 
to the neighboring farms. 

“We are a day earlier than they could pos- 
sibly expect us,’^ said Mr. Peters. 

We will surprise them. It’s just the 
time for grandfather to be sitting on the por- 
tico with his newspaper, and mother will be 
inside the hall, listening to him as he reads 
aloud, now and then. She will have on her 
small gray shawl this evening, because it’s a 
little cool.” 


THE RETURN. 


305 


After a pause, Richard continued. 

''I shall sit with you now, Katy, in our 
corner of the piazza. I suppose Edgar’s fuss- 
ing around in the barn, and Hubert’s reading 
at the bedroom window that looks out on the 
sunset, and Granville’s making boxes and sleds 
in the lumber-room, and Bertie’s playing with 
the dogs and kittens and rabbits out between 
the woodpiles. How many times I’ve seen 
them all just so since I’ve been away.” 

Richard Suddenly checked a long-drawn sigh 
and turned his face away. 

What did you see ? ” inquired Kate, look- 
ing out of the window, but observing nothing 
unusual. 

They were passing the '‘Leman Place,” and 
short, solid Mr. Littleton stood half-way up 
the grand walk, shaking a branch of a small 
tree with the end of his cane. He looked to- 
ward the coach, and Richard shivered as he 
recognized in the midst of the peaceful scene 
the face which so strongly resembled that of 


I 


306 


THE RETURN. 


the captor of the Araminta. The fountain sent 
up its jets of shining spray, and the refreshed 
flowers caught the occasional drops from a 
distance. Richard put his hands before his 
eyes to shut out the picture. It was not until 
some months afterwards, that he told his sis- 
ter, what had made the view painful. 

Richard and Kate clasped hands. The 
day was fading, the landscape was silent, 
and only the twitter of nesting birds was 
heard in the boughs above them, in the inter- 
vals when the coachman rested his horses 
going up the hills. A few weeks before, 
Richard had given up all hope of ever again 
beholding the silent, sunny _ fields. He had 
known what it was to accept a slight relief 
as a substitute for happiness. 

Now all was changed. He scarcely dared 
feel that the inevitable crisis was over, but 
he experienced a sense of liberation. There 
was still before him the dreary and painful 
task of facing, as a returned runaway. 


THE RETURN. 307 

the community in which he had always lived, 
but the' bright, sweet currents of his blood 
were again in motion, and the weight upon 
his heart was lifted by some impatient, joyous 
energy. 

He had felt more relieved and pleased than 
he would have liked to own, at seeing a 
stranger, a lank, thin-face.d man, with project- 
ing, near-sighted eyes, and an exceedingly 
prim, pursed mouth, in the place of the famil- 
iar driver he had always known. 

How fair the valley shone, as they came 
into it out of the long glen between the hills 1 
What cheer there was, even in the fading 
leaves ; what happy promise in the mellow au- 
tumn sky I 

When the coach stopped, Richard came upon 
the realization of the scene he had so long 
c^ried in his memory. Grandfather Wads- 
worth threw away his newspaper, and lost his 
spectacles, and the kitten on the door-step not 
only had Mrs. Peters’ ball of yarn, but the 


808 


THE RETURN. 


entire knitting- work to herself for the rest of 
the evening. Bertie, as he heard the sound 
of coach-wheels, went trooping down the walk, 
with dogs and all manner of pets at his heels, 
and raised such a shout as soon brought the 
household to the spot. 

There is nothing more beautiful than cheer- 
fulness on an old face. At the first moment 
of meeting Richard, Grandfather Wadsworth^s 
face grew white down to the lips, whose quiv- 
ering the heavy beard could not quite conceal, 
and he trembled from head to foot. It was 
the first time that any member of the* family 
had ever seen the old gentleman exhibit such 
emotion, and they could not forget it, even 
though the aged countenance became almost 
immediately radiant. 

■The boys gave their brother such bear-like 
hugs that he would have cried out with pain, 
if he had not been in such a blissful frame of 
mind, with one arm about his mother, and the 
other around his grandfather, as to be unaware 


THE RETURN. 


309 


of any bodily discomfort. Finally everybody 
forgot even to look at Mr. Peters and Kate, 
until the former said, 

“We are not at all appreciated, Katie. 

Then Mrs. Peters and the children welcomed 
them, but speedily forgot them again in their 
interest in ’Richard, and Mr. Peters and Kate 
contented themselves with the general state of 
things. 

It was late that night when they all retired 
to rest. Richard could not be satisfied until 
he had visited every nook and corner of the 
homestead, and Kate kept close to his side, as 
if she were afraid he would vanish’ from her 
sight for another long eleven weeks. They 
went past the barn into the grass-field, and 
mounted the hill. From the summit of the 
hill the house was scarcely visible, behind the 
fir-trees and the huge weeping-willow, but the 
fair hills around seemed happy under the ten- 
der sky, and the melting, vapory distance, 
seen through the southern opening of the val- 


310 


THE RETURN. 


ley, hinted of still pleasanter openings beyond. 
As Richard contemplated the home-scene, the 
long strain upon his nerves relaxed. He leaned 
his head upon Kate’s shoulder and made a si- 
lent vow upon which he asked God’s .blessing,, 
never again to give way to the temper which 
had been the cause of so much suffering. 

When they returned to the house, they 
found Jacob and Margery, who having come 
in, had been detained by the children to share 
the fkmily joy. 

’Pears like we’d netting left to fret about 
now,” said Jacob, as he surveyed the family 
group. 

“ As we advance in life, our friends decrease 
in numbers ; it is only those that have been 
well tried that we rely on. The tempestuous 
weather of life would indeed have ended for 
me with cold air, if we had lost one of the 
flock,” said Grandfather Wadsworth. 

Looking at the hale old gentleman, nobody, 
present could realize that he was nearer than 


THE RETURN. 


311 


themselves to the last of the alternations of 
transient sunbeams and showers which are 
called' life. 

We are told/^ he continued a moment 
afterward, ‘‘that there are old persons who 
have become curiosities simply because they 
have lived a long time, and who are strange 
because formerly they were like everybody 
else, and now they are no longer like anybody 
else. I find myself in great danger of becom- 
ing one of those old persons. 

“ Whenever I think or read of a great man, 
I find that he always resembles you in some 
important particular. Grandpa, said Edgar. 

“ Greatness is not to be had in the required 
quantity.^' 

“ Because there are as many hindrances to 
greatness, as there are to goodness,^' said 
Edgar, thoughtfully. “ Almost all our great 
men in America were poor boys.^^ 

“ The poverty which you consider such a 
hindrance, is in truth not to be despised,’^ 


312 


THE RETURN. 


said Grandfather Wadsworth, “for it strips 
the material life entirely here, and makes it 
hideous, but wise men tell us from their own 
experience that it is a trial from which the 
feeble come out infamous, from which the 
strong come out sublime. We know that the 
winning of honor is but the revealing of a 
man’s virtue and worth without disadvantage, 
so that the most credit is awarded to those 
who conquor the greatest disadvantages.” 

“ Seems to me great men start up where 
you least expect to find them, all over the 
world,” said Edgar, • 

“ Yes ; it is true that those who first bring 
honor into their family are commonly more 
worthy than most who succeed them. Where 
a genius has been given, a possibility, a cer- 
tainty, of its growing is also given. There is 
no calamity like ignorance. The wiser we are 
the less likely we are to over-rate ourselves. 
Man always sees the Infinite sliadowed forth 
in something finite. It is only when he at- 


THE RETURN. 


313 


tempts the highest excellence, that he discov- 
ers his mortal weakness. 

While Eichard listened to his grandfather’s 
talk, he felt more and more the strength of 
the charm that hallows familiar association, 
and the events of the past eleven weeks be- 
gan to drift away into the distance. 


314 


“ LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 


a 


CHAPTER XXII. 

H 

“ LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 

t BOUT a week after Richard^s return, as 
he was walking along at sunset, half a 
mile from his own home, he was accosted by 
a woman who wore a faded scarlet hood which 
heightened the pallor of what must at best 
have been a pallid face. The woman was 
slightly built and undersized. As Richard 
looked at her face, he saw that it was sickly, 
shaded off with purple shadows, but with a 
certain wiry, nervous strength about the mus- 
cles of the mouth and chin. It would have 
been a womanly, pleasant mouth, had it not 
been crossed by a white scar which attracted 
more of one’s attention than either the wom- 
anliness or pleasantness. Her eyes had light 


LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 


315 


tt 




long lashes, and shone through them steadily. 
"Excuse me, young sir, but you haven’t 
seen my husband, Mr. Tibbetts ? 

The question was asked in a deprecatory 
tone. 

"Joe Tibbetts ? exclaimed Richard,- invol- 
untarily. He had scarcely once thought of 
the man during the past fortnight. 

"Yes. Joe Tibbets is my husband. * This 
was said in a tone of resignation. 

The pink and white flushes passed over • 
Richard’s face. In a moment he said, 

" I hav’n’t seen him since — -I went away.” 

The woman’s scarred mouth moved slightly, 
but she made no immediate reply. Richard 
looked at her again. He had seen few faces 
more gravely lined. She had puzzled him at 
the flrst glance, and now at the second.' He 
had always heard that J oe Tibbets had a wife, 
but he now saw her for the first time. The 
little woman scarcely ever went out in the 
day-time. 


316 “ LOVE YOUR enemies/^ 

Presently she said, 

I felt more than commonly anxious about 
him to-night. I hav^n^t seen him for five days. 
I feel almost afraid to go after him.^^ 

'‘•Ifil go with you, ma’am, if you would 
like to have me,” said Richard, promptly 
choking down the hesitating words which 
arose to his lips. 

Mrs. Tibbetts silently led the way to a damp 
unwholesome place, cut short by a broken 
fence, a sudden steep, and water. Then she 
said, 

“ I’ll tell mother first not to sit up for me, 
and thank you kindly for going with me. I’m 
not usually nervous, but it’s borne in .upon me 
that I may need help to-night.” 

Five minutes’ walk brought them to a cor- 
ner, sharp upon the water where the east-winds 
broke about a little yellow house, where no 
children played; an old woman’s face watched 
at a window, and a nasturtium-vine crawled in 
the garden. The broken panes of glass about 


LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 


317 


the place were well mended. A wild grape- 
vine swung over the front door. 

Mrs. Tibbetts went in quickly. Richard, 
who waited outside, saw the old woman at 

r 

the window raise her expectant eyes to her 
daughter’s face, and then look sadly away j 
not that she longed to see Joe Tibbetts, but 
from sympathy she was^ always sad when her 
child was troubled. 

The old woman knew well enough that Joe’s 
return to his home meant a bottle always on 
the shelf; brutal scowls where smiles should 
be ; dinnerless and supperless days in the 
woods through loathing of the little yellow 
house while it sheltered her son-in-law. It 
meant nights when she and her daughter sat 
out in the snow-drifts through terror of the 
occupant of the little yellow house. The old 
woman remembered a broken jug one day, a 
blow, a fall, and the scar ever afterward upon 
her daughter’s face. 


818 LOVE YOUR enemies/' 

Through the open door Richard heard a 
cracked voice saying, 

^‘Have some supper fust, Marthy." 

Then the old Tvoman gently laid her tremu- 
lous hand upon Mrs. Tibbetts' head, feeling 
her daughter's least uneasiness, it would seem, 
as a chameleon feels a cloud upon the sun. 

Mrs. Tibbetts turned and kissed her aged 
mother. But she did not smile. She spoke 
a few words which Richard did not dis- • 
tinguish, in a low and tender tone, and 

then went out into the windy sunset, bearing 
her great trouble as she had always borne 
it, silently. The old woman, left alone, 
sat for a while with her head sunk upon 
her breast. Martha was. all she had — this 
one daughter that the world had dealt 

hardly with. Presently the old woman re- 
sumed her watch at the window. The bank 

near the house sloped steeply ; a fringe of 
stunted aspens and willows sprang from the 


“ LOVE YOUR enemies/^ 319 

damp sand — it was a sickening place in sum- 
mer, desolate in winter. During a great part 
of the year there was a sluggish wash of wa- 
ter at the back of the house, and the. winds 
bore down at times unmercifully upon it. 
Now as the old mother watched, an oriflame 
of scarlet burned in the west, fickered dully 
in the dirty,. curdling water, and flared against 
the windows of the little yellow house. 

When Mrs. Tibbetts went out to Richard, 
she pulled the faded scarlet hood over her 
face, wrapped her thin gray shawl about her, 
shivered, as she looked at the shadows that 
were beginning to skulk under the willows, 
and said, 

I inow I^m tired and nervous this after- 
noon, but I couldnT stay at home alone with 
mother. V 

You’d better come over to our house, 
ma’am, at Mr. Peters’. I think my mother 
could comfort you.” 

The woman dropped her head with an ashy 


320 '' LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 

smile. “ Pm afraid I^m past that/^ she said, 
and then relapsed into a rcvery. 

Was she thinking of the one oasis in her 
desert life? Of the two months in which Joe 
Tibbetts, concealing his real character, had 
done everything for her, been everything to 
her ? She was never tired of living over those 
two months. She took positive pleasure in 
recalling the wretchedness in which they had 
found her, for the sake of their dear relief. 
Had she not many a time during those two 
months, sitting with her happy face hidden in 
Joe’s arms, laughed softly to remember the 
day on which he came to her ? It was at 
nightfall, and she was tired, being obliged to 
work very hard to support her invalid inother 
and herself. Her work had troubled her all 
the afternoon, people had been cross, the day 
had been hot and long. Somebody on the 
way home had said in passing her, “ That girl 
is pretty enough to have a score of lovers ; ” 
it was in a whisper, but she heard it. All 


321 


^^LOVE YOUR enemies/^ 

life looked hot and long ; her work would al- 
ways trouble her ; people would always be 
cross ; her temples would always throb, and 
her back would ache. Would s/ie, poor, tired 
Martha Day, ever have a lover ? What was a 
lover ? 

‘‘ ril help you with the pails. Don’t cry.” 
She looked up ; she had been sitting on the 
door-steps*, where she had put down the heavy 
pails of water, with her face in her hands.' 
Joe stood there with his cap off. He had not 
then learned to see a woman suffer. He sat 
down on the door-step beside her. Martha 
sobbed as if her heart would break. Of course 
Joe had her whole story in ten minutes, she 
his in another ten. They were both common, 
and short enough; only hers was truthfully 
told, and his was not. 

What more natural than that Martha should 
be glad of some one to tell her troubles to ; 
and Joe built the kitchen fire for her, and 
brought in all the water, and helped her fry 


S22 ‘‘LOVE YOUR enemies/’ 

the poftatoes, and worried at her paleness 
when she was tired. He listened when she 
sang, and kissed away her undried tears, and 
she made new neck-ties for him, and he grew 
more particular in* his attire. Martha learned 
to care what ribbons were becoming, and 
found that it was a great comfort to have a 
lover for whom to take sweet tired steps, or 
to make dear dreamy plans. To be sure there 
was Martha’s mother, but the mother was 
eclipsed in this time upon which the girl had 
fallen. 

So Joe’s life grew to be one with Martha’s 
and her mother’s, his future and their’s united 
unconsciously. 

During these two blessed months, life un- 
folded in a burst of pleasant little surprises 
for Martha. Afterwards the surprises* were 
not so pleasant. Friends interfered to save 
Martha from so cruel a destiny, but she was 
sure that Joe only needed a kind friend to 
keep him in the right path. 


LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 


323 


Mrs. Tibbetts aroused herself from her rev- 
ery, and turned her pale face and wide open 
weary eyes, which, however, held a purpose, 
upon Richard, and said, 

'‘I’m sure I’m quite past all that, thank 
you. I’ll try to find my husband.” 

She said it weakly, but kept resolutely on 
her way. Richard felt rather awe-struck as he 
looked at her from time to time, but could 
not desert a woman so evidently in distress. 

She looked back once at a little pool of 
- water, open and black and still, and then took 
slow regular steps like an automaton, looking 
straight before her. 

It is a curious study, what wicked thoughts 
will come to good people. Richard never 
knew what passed through Mrs. Tibbetts’ 
mind as she walked by his side, but she told 
Mrs. Peters afterwards of the torment and un- 
rest of that night, 

A man came running down the road, breath- 


324 LOVE YOUR enemies/^ 

less, with a blanched face. Not heeding the 
woman, he gasped out, 

“The old saw-mill is on fire and Joe Tib- 
betts is inside. They canT get him out.’^ 

Mrs. Tibbetts uttered a shriek which froze 
Richard^s blood, then in a moment ran down 
the deserted road. 

“That’s his wife,” said Richard in explan- 
ation, and started in pursuit, leaving the man 
clapping his hands wildly to his head, and 
saying,* 

“ Oh, how could I ? I didn’t know.” 

When Mrs. Tibbetts reached the saw-mill, 
a broad piece of flooring that had fallen slant- 
wise had roofed her husband in, and saved 
him from the mass of machinery overhead 
which would have crushed the breath out of 
Hercules. Fragments of shafts and half burnt 
beams were lying around upon the ground. 
Richard heard some one say, 

“He was probably drunk when he went in. 


LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 


325 


<( 




He always is. His pipe must ha^ caught the 
shavings.’^ . 

‘‘Joe Tibbetts probably heard the remark, for 
he burst suddenly into furious blasphemies. 
The glare of the fire struck through an open- 
ing. Ladders were thrown up ; saws and axes 
flashed. They were getting nearer to Joe.^^ 

In a few seconds a voice from within said 
distinctly, “You never can get at me. I must 
be able to move. There’s something heavy fal- 
len on my legs and feet.” 

It was evident that Joe was now quite 
sobered. At the sound of these words Mrs. 
Tibbetts’ hands unclasped, her knees slid, time,’ 
place, and reason went out for a time. 

The crowd surged about the fire as they al- 
ways do on such occasions. Richard heard the 
the village clock strike eight. 

Then Joe Tibbetts said again in a voice 
quite different from the one to which people 
were accustomed, 


326 


LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 


feet are tangled in the gearing, and 
are beneath a pile of rubbish.’^ 

The opening broadened, brightened. They 
were working to save Joe, with rigid, stern 
faces. The fire flared up, and died in smoke, 
and flared lip again, leaped out and danced on 
the wood, roared for joy at helpless firemen. 
A plank snapped ; then a man with blood up- 
on his face and wrists stepped back exhausted. 
At this moment Richard who had mounted the 
ladder cried out, 

say, Joe, can you hear 'me?’’ 

Joe Tibbitts looked out through the glare 
and smoke with' parched lips. , He felt that he 
was tombed alive in that furnace. He recog- 
nized Richard and turned away and shut his 
eyes. 

“I say, Joe, dear Joe, don’t look away. 
It’s all right between us. It was long ago. 
Your wife is down here waiting. If they 
shouldn’t save you, what word would you like 


LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.’/ 327 

to send to her. It would comfort her to know 
you were sorry, and remembered her.” 

Joe groaned without speaking. 

If you can’t speak, hold up your right 
hand, so I shall know you understand,” urged 
Richard. 

Joe waved his hand in the ^ir and Richard 
saw that it was bloody and that one finger 
was gone. He felt faint at the sight and could 
say no more. 

But the crowd outside had not given Joe 
up. They worked for him as if his life had 
been one long good-service. All the latent 
heroism in humanity awakes at the sight of a 
human being in danger of being burned to 
death. The men outside clawed at the burning 
beams with savage strength. Richard slid 
down the ladder hastily, and a fireman fainted 
in the glow. 

' Give it up I” cried the crowd from behind. 
*‘It can’t be done I Fall back!” — -then hushed, 


awe-struck. 


328 


LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 






A woman with a white scar across her 
mouth was crawling along upon her hands and 
knees over the heated beams. Her faded scar- 
let hood had fallen back from her white face, 
and her hair blew about in the wind. 

‘‘ I want my husband I she said. I must 
save my husband.’’ 

A rough-looking young fellow in fireman’s 
^ dress pointed in perfect silence through the 
smoke. 

I’ll have him out yet. I’m a woman, but 
I can help. He’s my husband. Give me that 
water. It’ll keep him from choking maybe. 
Don’t lose heart Joe I Your wife’s here. 
Don’t lose heart I ” 

It’s no use, Martha. Don’t feel bad, 
Martha.” 

She hacked at the timber ; she tried to 
laugh. Accustomed to misery as she was, she 
bewildered herself with cheerful words. 

“ Don’t be downcast yet.” We’ll have you 
safe at home before you know it. The tea- 


LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 


329 


It 


fj 


kettle’s humming, and the new curtain just fits 
the window. I made it, and finished the slip- 
pers to surprise you, and I scoured the closet 
to-night, and made a squash pie for supper, 
and set the table for three. If I could only 
get the water to you. They’ll get you now 
sure ! ” 

But out above the crackle and the roar, th(» 
man’s voice rang clear 

“ If I had another chance, Martha, I do dif- 
ferent by ye. I’d ” 

The crawling smoke turned yellow, turned 
red. Joe Tibbetts’ voice broke and hushed. 

Joe ! My husband ! ” cried the woman 
out upon the burning timbers. She was 
scorched now, from her long streaming hair to 
her sore feet. 

The answer came, 

God be merciful to me 1 ” 

^'Joel Joel” 

But some one pulled her back. 


330 


Kate’s birth-day party. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Kate’s birth-day party. 

f WO weeks after the fire, Katy’s birth- 
day party began to be discussed. 

Richard had been out of the house but 
little, partly because he had not wholly re- 
covered his strength, and partly because he 
dreaded to meet and attempt to answer all the 
inquiries of his school-companions. The party 
had been given up during the time of the 
family trouble, but as it now lacked only a 
week of Katy’s twelfth birth-day, the boys 
determined that the present celebration should 
exceed everything that had ever been known 
in the family. 


rate’s BIRTH-DAY PARTY. 331 

By degrees the color had come back to 
Richard’s cheeks. During his absence Kate 
had grown quiet, and had almost • forgotten 
to <6ing as she went about the house ; re- 
minding one that vapor collected in masses 
is scarcely worth raising our heads to 
look at, yet valuable as a means of intro- 
ducing light and breaking the monotony of 
the landscape. Katy’s songs were nothing in 
themselves but the simple outpourings of a 
happy heart, but when they ceased, the whole 
family missed their pleasant influence, and 
began to realize how much the sweet silvery 
voice had contributed towards the household 
harmony^ 

Now her face had become illuminated with 
an expression which but faintly shadowed 
forth her inward happiness. The smile which 
had formerly been a part of herself, returned 
to her eyes and mouth, and she sang hymns 
of thanksgiving from morning till night. The 
ring dove -was made to participate in her joy, 


332 Kate’s birth-day party. 

and would sit perched for hours together 
upon its mistress’ shoulder, cooing its respon- 
sive notes in her ear. 

I have heard that all earthly things, besides 
the nature they have in themselves, receive 
externally some perfection from other things, 
and that what is so often said, is true, that 
in color, it is not red, but rose color, which 
is most beautiful, neither such actual green as 
we find in paintings, but such grey green as 
that ‘ into which nature modifies her distant 
tints, or such pale green and uncertain as we 
see in the sunset sky, which satisfy us best ; 
and it seems to me that what we like best in 
girls, is not the constant assertion of any very 
decided talent nor brilliant red and white com- 
plexions, nor neatly-executed sontanas, but gen- 
tle loving ways, cheerfulness, and general help- 
fulness — a desire and ability to increase tlje 
happiness of all around them. 

Kate Peters was a living example of the 
truth of the statement that the virtue of pros- 


KATE^S BIRTH-DAY PARTY. 333 

perity is temperance, and the virtue of adver- 
sity is fortitude, and the crowning virtue of 
every situation is contentment, and that all 
virtue is like precious odors, most fragrant 
when crushed. 

Mrs. Peters, the only person in the house 
who was taken wholly into Katy’s confidence, 
prophesied to the boys in mysterious language 
that the approaching birth-day party would be 
for many reasons pleasanter than ever before. 

The invitations read in this wise ; 

Miss Catherine Peters desires the company 
of Master Harry Irving, at her birth-day party, 
Wednesday, Sept. 26th, from four until nine 
o’clock P. M.” 

The days flew rapidly by. The services of 
Jacob and Margery had been secured for the 
occasion and one morning when Richard and 
Edgar went into the kitchen they saw Kate on 
tip-toe in a high chair peeping into a deep 
closet, while Margery and Hannah the house- 
maid explained. 


334 Kate’s birth-day party. 

“ Just look on that second shelf in back. 
There’s twelve jars of anchovies, thirty pots 
of fruits just preserved, and no end of sauces, 
jellies, and the like. Here’s a cask of wine 
biscuit and the cellar’s full of — everything.” 

Preserves and such stulBf is only fit for 
girls. We boys will eat ripe fruit and the 
rest of the nice things,” said Herbert, thrust- 
ing his head in at the door. 

“ I suppose Kate you don’t care now whether 
Cambyses, son of Cyrus, takes Babylon, or 
not?” said Edgar. 

Not the faintest shadow fell upon Katie’s 
face as she heard the general laugh at her ex- 
pense. She had learned that there were worse 
troubles than dry history lessons. 

On the afternoon appointed, the guests ar- 
rived with surprising promptitude, and at 
fifteen minutes past four they had nearly all 
come. 

Mr. Keeni and Harry Irving who had called 
on Richard as soon as they heard he had come 


EATERS BIRTH-DAY PARTY. 


335 


home, and had come to an open and pleasant 
understanding, were among the first to arrive. 
Katy had stipulated that she should be allowed 
to invite four grown persons. Mr. Keeni and 
Miss Selden being two of the favored individ- 
uals, the other two remained unknown, until 
after the guests had begun the shy preparatory 
conversation on such occasions, the other two 
grown persons showed themselves in the per- 
sons of Miss Selden’ s two brothers, who were 
accompanied by four men bearing a large and 
mysterious looking box, at sight of which 
Katy stood on her toes a moment, but remem- 
beriHg her role as hostess speedily resumed her 
gravity. 

Richard drew his sister aside, and whispered. 
What’s in the box, Katy ? ” 

“ That’s some of the party,” she replied in 
a gleeful voice, and glided away before he 
could say another word. 

When the four men had set the box down in 
the front hall, they went away, and there was 


836 


KATE^S BIRTH-DAY PARTY. 


no explanation given of the mystery. On the 
green at the back of house was heard a violin 
playing such an inspiring tune, that it soon 
called the boys and girls out of the house. 

Mounted on a hogshead under an apple-tree 
was Black Jacob playing with great zest, and 
delighted at the high appreciation in which 
his services were likely to be held. 

Richard, who had not met James Eeling 
since his return, now saw him walking slowly 
along the garden path, plucking a flower or 
two, as if irresolute how to approach his for- 
mer rival. All the way down the path, James 
gazed steadfastly down into the valley, but not 
seeing the landscape. As he approached, 
Richard saw that his cheeks reddened, . and 
that his lips were compressed. Suddenly he 
looked up. Richard stretched out his hand. 

“ I am sorry, and I want to ask your for- 
giveness,^^ said James. 

You needn’t do any such thing, Jim, for 
I was to blame,” said Richard, quickly. 


Kate’s birth-day party. 337 

They were both cheerful after this, and the 
air seemed freer and the sky brighter to their 
eyes. Each had dreaded meeting the other. 

In a few moments formality had vanished 
from the entire company. The influence of 
out-of-door air is pervasive and irrisistible. 
The voices of the children were heard every- 
where, and there was the suddenness, the 
lightness, the loudness, the"^ sweet confusion, 
and the sparkling gayety, which naturally be- 
longs to all collections of young people. 
They all did as they pleased, and yet some- 
how acted in concert. 

Richard walked with Harry Irving and Kate 
to the eastern side of the stream at the back 
of the house, where a little bay of level shore 
shaded by superb trees, was left between two 
steep knolls.* James Eeling and Charlie and 
Mary Graham soon joined them. 

What a place for a little pic nic,” said 
James, looking at the stumps and a fallen 
tree, which could easily have been converted 


338 


Kate’s birth-day party. 


into rough tables and seats ; there was a hatu- 
ral fire-place among some tumbled stones, a 
spring of icy crystal gushed out from the foot 
of a rock, and the shimmering, murmuring 
water in front, with the emerald meadows 
beyond, made the sylvan nook so fascinating 
that the young people lingered a moment. 

Can’t have a pic nic without sandwiches, 
’n cold chicken, ’n pickles, ’n cakes, ’n cheese, 
’n cofiee,” said Charlie Graham, proving that 
there is a physiognomical character in the 
tastes for food. 

All the company enjoyed themselves to the 
extent of their capacity. Even Lizzie Eeling, 
who was generally too careful of her clothes 
to have a good time anywhere, ran about as 
blithely under the old apple-trees, as did plump 
Mary Graham, who tore her blue and white 
spotted muslin, and lost a slipper now and 
then without allowing these mishaps to aflect 
her spirits in the least. Harry Irving picked 
up the short wide shoe as often as it dropped 


Kate’s birth-day party. 339 

off, and gallantly restored it to the careless 
little girl. 

Bob Fry, whoso mind was greatly exercised 
concerning the contents of the mysterious box, 
made every exertion to find out if anybody 
were better informed on the subject than him- 
self 

Charley Graham was disinclined to violent 
exercise, and inquired frequently of his ac- 
quaintances if they knew what hour supper 
would be served. 

Joe Simmons told Minnie Green that Charley 
had entirely given up trying to learn to swim, 
and that the Master had requested the boys 
not to tease him any more about it. 

Georgey Gream was playing at jack-straws 
with gentle Sarah Simmons. They were seat- 
ed on a little knoll, not far from where Grand- 
father Wadsworth sat discussing moral law, 
rights of man, and political metaphysics with 
Mr. Keni. 


340 


Kate’s birth-day party. 


Two days before the party Grrandfather 
Wadsworth had said to Katy, 

'' We expect to find ennui, vexation, and 
disgust ingeniously distributed among the sev- 
eral pleasures to be administered and partaken 
of by any party of adults, collected for the 
purposes of enjoyment ; but with children it is 
altogether different. For them the bloom still 
remains. Therefore I thoroughly enjoy chil- 
dren’s parties ; and as I dislike to struggle 
with the depression of spirits which is always 
the portion of those who are left behind when 
any social circle is broken up, by the removal 
of its principal elements, I will go to my room 
before the young people have gone home. 
There is nothing more unpleasant on such 
occasions than having to stay and put the 
lights out.” . 

So while the old gentleman talked with Mr. 
Keeni, and beamed upon everybody in general, 
he was careful to note the lapse of time, that 


Kate’s birth-day party. 341 

he might not witness the breaking up of the 
party. 

Margery and Hannah presided over two 
large pitchers of lemonade and ice-water, 
which were placed on a wooden bench trimmed 
with evergreen boughs, under one of the larg- 
est trees near the house. To this shady spot 
the children frequently resorted. An hour and 
a half sped so quickly that nobody could be- 
lieve that it had gone, until little Albert Pe- 
ters, who had remained from the first near 
enough to his mother to touch her dress by 
extending his right arm, forgot for a moment 
his timidity, and shouted. 

Oh — 0 I Here’s the six o’clock coach, and 
somebody come to see us I ” 

Grandfather Wadsworth had just said to 
Mr. Keeni, 

“ How remarkable is the silence of Scrip- 
ture I ” 

Before Mr. Keeni had time to reply. Bob 
Fry, in his anxiety to see who the new-comer 


842 Kate’s birth-day party. 

in the coach might be, ran against the old 
gentleman and stumbled, bumping his head 
violently. 

Edgar and Granville Peters ran down to the 
front gate, but soon returned, breathless, with 
the astounding news that another box had 
arrived, directed to “Master Richard Peters.” 

Below the address was written in large let- 
ters, “ Handle with care — this side up.” 

This intelligence spreading rapidly, drew 
the company one by one toward the front 
gate. The stage-driver required assistance in 
lifting the box from the top of the coach, and 
Richard, fearing some unpleasant result from 
his late experience, walked soberly behind the 

men as they carried the box into the house. 

• 

The driver received his pay, mounted the 
coach and drove off. Katy stood close by 
Richard, and after her old fashion, slid her 
hand into his without speaking. ^ 

When the rough boards had been removed 
a plain case appeared, enclosing a beautiful 


Kate’s birth-day party. 343 

model of the Araminta,” with a solid gold 
figure-head. 

On a gold plate at the side were inscribed 
these words : 


I PRESENTED TO 

i Master Richard Peters, 

I For Distinguished Bravery and Fidelity to Duty, 
I while serving on board the “Araminta.” 

i JoTHAM Saunders, 

j Henry Percival, 

j Jacob Clishdown. 


A letter from the three owners, accompany- 
ing the present, explained what Richard had 
not before imagined ; that Captain Boggs had 
sent them by the same vessel which took him 
from the Araminta, an account of his cabin- 
boy’s highly commendable conduct. The own- 
ers regretted that they had not the pleasure 
of a personal acquaintance with Master Rich- 
ard Peters. 

It is useless to attempt to describe the effect 


314 Kate’s birth-day party. 

produced by the present and the letter accom- 
panying it. Those boys who had previously 
indulged in secret misgivings as to the amount 
of discredit which ought to reflect upon Rich- 
ard, in consequence of his quarrel with James 
Eeling, and his subsequent disappearance, now 
regarded him as more worthy of admiration 
than any hero of romance. The heroes of 
whom they had read were always enveloped 
in a cloud of impossible circumstances, or at 
least, they were born at some period of time 
which separated them from the immediate sym- 
pathies of their readers, but Richard stood 
among them, of their own age, tastes, and 
habits. He had voluntarily exposed himself 
to hardships (not run away, now — oh no I ) in 
order to save his family from the disgraceful 
consequences of the accident (?) to James 
Eeling. He had sailed — nobody know how far 
— and covered himself with glory, by his own 
valor. There was not a boy present who 
would not gladly have relinquished all his 


KATE^S BIRTH-DAY PARTY. 


345 


brightest hopes for the future, if he could have 
been allowed to change places with the hero 
of the hour ; but as they crowded around Kich- 
ard and the little vessel, they perceived from 
his answers — in spite of the bright light which 
filled his eyes as they fell upon the inscription 
— that his sufferings during his absence, had 
far outweighed his enjoyment of adventure, and 
that in some way unknown to them, he had 
received in full measure whatever 'punishment 
he had deserved. 

Mr. and Mrs. Peters watched their son with 
pardonable pride, while he received praises and 
congratulations on all sides, and felt confident 
that he would not forget the lesson which he 
had received. 

* 

George Saunders who had minutely examined 
the little vessel without speaking a word until 
the first general outbreak of enthusiasm had 
abated, said in his moderate and oldgentleman- 
like manner. 


346 


Kate’s birth-day party. 


We couldn’t any of us win such a prize 
as that.” 

A warm flush came to Richard’s cheek as 
Mr. Keeni replied, 

“ I think George, that Richard deserved his 
reward as fully as you did yours, for you both 
did your duty, without hoping for recompense.” 

At this point Katy hugged Richard and kiss- 
ed him before the whole company. 

Afterwards there was a great deal of laugh- 
ing and talking about “ the Araminta,” until 
some one from the rear of the house announced 
that supper was ready. 


CONCLUSION. 


34t 


CHAPTER XXIV 

CONCLUSION. 

t T the word ‘‘supper^’ Charley Graham, 
who on certain points was the ermine 
of stupidity, without a single stain of intelli- 
gence,^^ while on others he was sufficiently 
acute, looked around, but seeing no sign of 
refreshments, followed briskly in the wake of 
the individual who had pronounced the magi- 
cal word, and the rest of the -company, know- 
ing that Charley’s instinct in this respect could 
be trusted, blindly followed, and soon came 
upon a large tent spread in the orchard, un- 
derneath which was a table loaded with de- 
licious eatables. 

The twinkle in Miss Seldon’s and Kate Pe- 
ter’s eyes, showed how much they enjoyed the 


348 


CONCLUSION. 


satisfaction which the sight of the tent caused. 
The snowy canvas covering the beautifully 
arranged table, seemed to have sprung up by 
magic. 

It is probable that old Margery and Hannah 
with an efficient corps of assistants had 
brought about the magical work, for they 
showed an intense appreciation of the effect 
of the order of things upon the young people. 

A large American flag waved from the top 
of the tent, and two smaller ones were crossed 
over the door-way, and everybody considered 
the decorations very grand indeed. Inside, 
smaller flags caught up folds of scarlet bunt- 
ing and white cambric, and it turned oiit 
finally that a professional decorator had been 
hired by Mr. Peters to come from a town 
fifteen miles distant, to serve upon the occa- 
sion. 

As soon as Grandfather Wadsworth had 
asked the blessing, the boys and girls began 
to do justice to the viands before them. There 


CONCLUSION. 


349 


was so much laughter mingled with the gen- 
eral conversation, that a person stopping be- 
fore the door of the tent, could no more make 
out what they were all saying inside, that if 
they had been a flock of gulls or blackbirds. 
He would only have known that everybody, 
enjoyed the hearty physical basis of animated 
life on which they found themselves. 

It had been a beautiful warm September 
day, but after the supper was eaten, at half 
past seven in the evening, it had grown so 
cool that the proposition to return to the 
house was agreeably received, and here an- 
other surprise was in waiting. 

Bob Fry, who could not feel quite easy 
until he knew the contents of the large box 
in the hall, walked in the front rank to the 
house, but was greatly disappointed on arriv- 
ing, to perceive no sign of the object which 
had excited his curiosity. 

Miss Seldon, who had observed Bob^s move- 
ments, answered Katy’s smile as they entered 


350 


CONCLUSION. 


the door. In the front hall were arranged 
twenty-four setteeS; and Mr. Percy Seldon 
invited the entire company to be seated. 
Then the doors were shut, and the parlor and 
dining-room windows opened for air, the blinds 
shut, and the company found themselves sit- 
ting in darkness. 

Then Mr. Donald Seldon’s voice was heard 
from the farther end of the room, saying : 

“ Ladies and gentlemen — I shall have the 
honor this evening of exhibiting to you the 
beauties and wonders of the stereopticon.’’ 

“ Oh that was what was in the box,^^ Bob 
Fry whispered, loud enough to be heard all 
over the room. 

‘‘This was my secret, Ricky, Katy whis- 
pered, very softly. 

“It’s perfectly splendid,” Richard whispered 
back to her, as the opening scenes presented 
themselves. “How could you get it?” 

“Miss Seldon coaxed . her brother to go for 
for it, and mother thought of having the table 


CONCLUSION. 


351 


set under the tent in the orchard, and father 
ordered the flags and ornaments without telling 
us he was going to.’^ 

The pictures of the steropticon embraced 
scenes in every quarter of the globe, and Mr. 
Seldon^s descriptions of them were lucid and 
interesting. There were portraits of distin- 
guished men and women, groups of statuary, 
and representations of skeleton flowers and 
leaves. 

Every picture was hailed with rapturous 
applause, and when the curtain fell at nine 
o^clock, the audience were unwilling to leave 
their seats. 

Mr. Keeni and Miss Seldon set the example 
of getting ready to go home, which the others 
felt obliged to follow. 

George Saunders, as he bade Katy good- 
night,^^ told her he had never enjoyed an 
evening so much. 

Charley Graham, on the way home, confided 
to Lizzie Lee the fact that he . had never seen 


352 


CONCLUSION. 


SO handsome a table, or tasted such delicious 
food. 

^‘The flowers were beautiful/^ said Lizzie. 

So were the ice-creams and confectionery/^ 
returned Charley. 

I think Katy Peters, in white muslin, is 
the prettiest girl T know of,^^ said Lizzie 
Eeling to her brother, as they walked along 
together. This was a great deal for Lizzie to 
say. 

Yes. And Dick’s lost his temper in the 
ocean, I believe. He’s altered surprisingly in 
so short a time. Did you notice how gentle 
and polite he was to everybody ? ” 

‘‘ Of course he would be polite at Katy’s 
party. But I know what you mean ; he’s lost 
all his fiery way. I didn’t see him look as if 
he’d like to fly at anybody to-night. Oh, 
Jimmy I Shouldn’t I be proud if you’d had 
that little vessel sent to you, with mch a 
letter ! ” 

I don’t care. Dick deserves it ! ” ex- 


CONCLUSION. 


353 


claimed James, with a burst of generous feel- 
ing. 

^‘How could anybody ever think of anything 
80 perfectly elegant as a Sterego-on for a 
party, said little Mary Graham, as she trudged 
home by her brother's side, swinging her hat 
by the strings, and holding her torn dress 
skirt over one arm. 

“You mean a Stereopticon. You must 
notice how words are pronounced, Mary, and 
not tear your dresses everywhere you go,^^ 
reprimanded Charlie. 

“If I did tear my dress, I remembered 
what mother said just as we were starting, 
and did not eat so much as to make every- 
body laugh at me,’^ pouted his sister. 

The moon hung over the landscape, edging 
with sparkling silver the branches of the trees, 
and the air was still, and sweet and cool, and 
filled with the diffused murmurs of the night. 
Under such influences, even the two unim- 


354 


CONCLUSION. 


pressible Graham children could not long 
disagree. 

It’s too pleasant and nice to go into the 
house/’ said Mary, looking at the serene 
landscape. 

“Yes. 1 should like to sit out here and eat 
ice-creams all night,” returned her brother. 

The next day at school, it was unanimously 
agreed that Katie Peters’ birth-day party had 
been the most delightful occasion that the 
guests had ever known. 


Time is a specific administered to mortals 
for all spiritual shocks. In due time Richard 
fully recovered his health and strength. After 
he had been at home about two months, Mr. 
Peters heard of a small farm for sale about 
three quarters of a mile from his own place, 
which under proper cultivation would yield a 
fair profit, and at Richard’s solicitation, he 


CONCLUSION. 


355 


advanced the money for its purchase, and 
established the Tetlow family upon it. 

Katy became much interested in Susan 
Tetlow, and by her friendship and tender sym- 
pathy, lightened the heavy burden of infirmity 
which Susan had to bear, while the younger 
children became firm friends of the Peters 
boys. 

On the first Christmas after Pichardos return. 
Grandfather Wadsworth presented Black Jacob 
with a handsome silver watch, and gave Mar- 
gery a bright-figured silk dress, which she had • 
long admired, without ever hoping to possess. • 

Jacques Lecroix married Mary Ann Boggs 
at the end of the voyage, as agreed upon, and 
lives very happily in New Bedford, near the 
residence of his father-in-law. 

Captain Boggs did not forget Richard, and 
the two families sustain the most friendly 
relations. 

Mrs. Tibbetts survived the shock of her 


356 


CONCLUSION. 


husband^s death, and finds a steadfast friend 
in Mrs. Peters. 

Although Richard has not lost his temper 
in the ocean,” as James Eeling suggested, he 
never forgot the lesson which he learned during 
his eleven weeks^ absence, and when he felt 
his old enemy rising, he put forth all his 
strength to meet and conquer, and with in- 
creasing success, for he has learned to look 
for aid to the Source of Strength. 





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